


The Way Old Friends Do

by Quiiet



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: (Abusive Relationships is NOT for the Chansaw), (I promise the relationships with OCs don't last. it's just character and plot development baby), (J.D. is not a good person in this fic), (That mild tag may be upped in the future), Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexuality, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Emotional Manipulation, Sexism, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiiet/pseuds/Quiiet
Summary: It's been nearly ten years since Veronica left Sherwood Ohio and all of it's bad memories behind. Her life isn't perfect, but it's a life she didn't think she'd ever live to see and isn't about to complain. But when a familiar face suddenly comes back into her life and she can't hide the truth, how will she handle the fallout? And how is she going to manage having Heather Chandler and her enigmatic ways thrust back into her life?A super slow burn Chansaw fic with a healthy dose of ABBA throughout, because who doesn't love ABBA? (spoilers, it's Veronica)
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer, Heather Chandler/Veronica Sawyer, Slight Heather Chandler/Original Character, Slight Veronica Sawyer/Original Character
Comments: 87
Kudos: 179





	1. Head Over Heels

**Author's Note:**

> _I have a very good friend,  
>  The kind of girl who likes to follow a trend  
> She has a personal style,  
> Some people like it others tend to go wild  
> You hear her voice everywhere,  
> Taking the chair,  
> She's a leading lady  
> And with no trace of hesitation she keeps going_  
> 

It was, by all accounts, a very shitty day.

Her boss, in his ever sexist and boorish ways, had Veronica working over-time to try and rewrite nearly the entire paper in order to get it passed the editorial board. Without pay. And without any credit.

Veronica fumed during the whole ordeal, mumbling to herself to try and keep it together for just a few more hours and then she could go home to the alcohol waiting in her fridge. Truthfully, she just wanted to laugh in his face and walk out, but it had taken her years to get this far and she wasn't about to risk throwing it all away because of another piece of shit man thinking he knew better than she did.

The last three thought the same too, and where were they? Still in their tiny, shitty, offices in tiny shitty places reporting on tiny shitty stories. Not like her, with her fancy title of junior editor and her less than fancy apartment only a quick drive away from the heart of Boston and her exhaustion from working far too much for way too little.

Thinking about it led her to groan to herself as she tried to avoid a rather large puddle of water, lest she ruin her shoes any further -- like it'd help any. She left without her umbrella and was hoping to have been home before the rainstorm started, a fact she was absolutely kicking herself for now as she walked on aching feet in soaking wet clothes.

_Motherfucking piece of shit..._

She tried to find the positives, something her dad had always tried to do when things went wrong. He used to tell her to list at least three good things to remember when the goings got rough. She should call her parents soon, it had been a while since she last spoke to them.

There was her first positive: her relationship with her parents was still as great as it had been when she was a kid. They were understanding and sweet, always making sure to call her on the holidays and her birthday or insisting that the next time she come visit they pay for her plane ticket. Her dad had every piece of news she had a hand in creating displayed proudly on a corkboard in his office. Her mom had recently started mailing her postcards from the grocery store in Sherwood, 'little pieces of home' she called it. Not that Veronica really wanted to be reminded of Ohio, but she kept the cards for sentimentality towards her mother.

Second positive: she was out of Sherwood. Veronica left as soon as she could -- too soon her parents and friends said. Her junior year was a nightmare she was all too happy to escape from. All of it was one bad memory: smoke and parties, croquette and lipstick, forged notes and slushies. She pushed herself to graduate early, ignoring the fact that maybe she needed time to process everything that had happened and instead throwing herself directly into school work and college essays. The few times she had returned to Sherwood, she hadn't left her parent's house. Veronica refused to go anywhere, not the high school and it's new football field, not the 7/11, not to the lunches at someone's house she kept getting invites for. Even thinking about it now, Veronica felt her hands trembling and heart hammering at the thought of high school and the hell it had been.

Most people would agree with her and insist that their high school experience was far worse than anyone elses. She'd only laugh and fight to urge to tell them that unless they watched their boyfriend blow up in front of them and killed three people, they didn't know shit. Well, killed two and put one in the ICU.

The door to her apartment building opened with a loud creak and she immediately kicked off her shoes, taking them in hand and not caring about the water she was dripping as she made her way down the hall towards the elevator room.

She really just wanted to take a shot of whatever she touched first and fall into bed to sleep for eight years, but if she had learned anything about living in this apartment building it's that you had a fat chance of getting a good night's sleep. The building was just close enough to Harvard that the streets were always filled with honking cars and drunk students being rowdy at all hours. And even when she could drown that out, there wasn't much she could do to help the noise of her neighbors. They had moved in only a couple of months ago and at first Veronica had intentions of introducing herself to them but after the shouting match that took place on their second night moved in, she decided against it.

The man who lived there -- she wasn't sure if he was husband or boyfriend -- seemed to work a similar schedule to her and was usually her only company as she left for work and came home. He was always well dressed and polite, if not a bit snippy, and he definitely seemed shifty after Veronica caught him whispering into the payphone in the laundry room late at night once. 

The woman was never seen. If it weren't for the fact that Veronica could hear her shrill screams and yells through the thin walls, she wouldn't even know she was there. The woman either didn't leave the apartment or left at odder hours than what was usual for working folks in the city.

It had become routine for Veronica to settle into bed and countdown until their voices began raising far past hushed tones, their words muffled enough to be unintelligible but the intent all too clear.

Sighing to herself and debating if she should get hammered enough to sleep through it, Veronica turned the corner to see the one working elevator light up with a ding. Maybe her luck for the night was turning around. Third positive: she was home and only good things can happen when you're home.

Moving forward she quickly realized that no, her luck was not turning around and bad things can still happen, as the doors slowly began closing. She hobbled forward and tried to desperately reach it in time. Losing hope fast and praying it may be occupied -- and that whoever was in there was merciful -- she pleaded, "Wait! Please, wait!"

Just before the doors could finish closing, a heeled shoe kicked out to stop it and Veronica felt like crying from relief. Throwing herself into the elevator and releasing a long exhale, Veronica started to reach for the button to her floor before realizing it was already pressed. Relaxing against the back wall, she turned her gaze to the woman kind enough to let her in and said, "Thanks."

Veronica nearly swallowed her tongue as she stared at the woman, unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her or if this was God's idea of a cruel joke.

Standing beside her, wearing a black skirt, charcoal grey petticoat and high heels, holding a still dripping umbrella in one hand and a thick stack of papers in the other, with strawberry blonde hair pulled back away from her face by a black scrunchie, was Heather Chandler.

Openly gaping and trying to remember how to breathe, Veronica could only see images that would haunt her dreams all rushing to her at once. An innocent little white cup and lid, dark eyes and a playful smile, a bottle of blue drain cleaner and a red scrunchie, the sounds of choking and glass shattering, the still body of her best friend and worst enemy with a forged suicide note beside it. It made her hands shake and heart stop, a bit of air finally making it's way through her clenched teeth as she let herself practically be held up by the elevator wall.

It all happened within the span of only a few seconds -- and none of it was seen by Heather, who continued reading through the papers in her hand and replied apathetically without looking up, "Yeah."

The elevator doors shut, locking them in together.

Veronica knew she shouldn't be staring, especially with the crazed look she was sure was on her face, but she just couldn't help it. It had been over a decade since she had seen Heather Chandler. 

People called it a miracle that she survived. The public was led to believe the teenage girl had actually died for months before news broke that she had actually survived but remained in a medically induced coma while she recovered, something about new and untested treatment methods had kept it under wraps until it was proven to be successful. When Veronica's mother tearfully told her the news, Veronica nearly had a nervous breakdown. If Heather woke up and started talking, it was all over for her. She had finally stopped having nightmares about JD waving his gun and then promptly exploding and now she had a whole new set of nightmares involving a dead girl walking.

Heather McNamara had cried all throughout their next movie night, happy that her friend was still alive while also grieving their apparent mutual demons that would drive them to such extremes. 

"I just wish I would have talked to her more." She sobbed into Martha's arms, "Maybe then she wouldn't have...have..."

Heather Duke seemed mostly unaffected, only sniffing dismissively anytime someone brought it up.

"Who cares? Let her try and come back thinking she's hot shit. She did it to herself and it's not my problem that she's such a loser than she couldn't even kill herself."

Veronica waited in terror for months for the demon queen to return to school, but she never did. Rumors would spread that she'd be back the next week, then the next week, then the next and so on, but she never did. Not even the teachers knew what to think about the situation, waiting in just as much suspense as the students for the girl to come back.

But she never did.

Heather Chandler never came back, and she never publicly said a word.

Veronica graduated and left Sherwood without seeing a single hair on Heather Chandler's head, and she was half convinced the same could be said for everyone else too. As far as anyone knew, Heather Chandler had dropped off the face of the earth -- alive according to all sources, but gone.

But here she was, nearly ten years older and looking the same as ever. Truly, she hadn't seemed to have aged a day. Her face looked a little thinner, sure, and her eyes seemed more tired, but she still wore that expression of complete and utter bitch that Veronica couldn't help but smile at. Her brow furrowed and her lips in a pout, clearly displeased with whatever she was reading. She huffed to herself and shook her head slightly, the motion moving a few strands of her neatly curled hair over her shoulder.

Could Veronica even be sure that this was Heather? She was exhausted and had the bad memories of Sherwood on her mind already, this was probably just a trick of the mind. There was no way, in heaven or hell, that they could have ended up in the same shitty elevator of the same shitty apartment in Boston. The real Heather Chandler was probably tanning somewhere in Europe with a bunch of hot pool boys in skimpy swimwear, or sitting behind a large mahogany desk with a cigar in her mouth and briefcases full of dirty money around her, or off stomping a village somewhere. Nope, this couldn't be her.

Curious now, Veronica strained her neck to try and catch a glimpse at the papers in her hand, hoping there would be a name somewhere on it.

 _Jessica, maybe._ She looked like she could be a Jessica. 

The moment she leaned just a little too far her slick feet went out from underneath her and she found herself suddenly falling. Veronica's chin hit Maybe-Jessica-Maybe-Heather's arm and the force was enough to send the blonde straight to the ground too, landing hard on her ass with a startled noise. Papers rained around them as they both sat stunned on the wet floor of the elevator, Veronica wanting to just close her eyes and accept death. She used to think death by Heather Chandler's hand was a fate she escaped after turning eighteen and yet here she was, twenty-seven and unwillingly thrown back at the feet of Satan herself.

But hey, maybe her guess before was right and this was Jessica -- a lovely accountant with no relation to the demon queen.

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw."

Heather -- _yep, definitely Heather_ \-- murmured to herself while slowly gathering her scattered belongings. 

Veronica felt the panic in her rising as she fought inwardly with herself on what to do next. _Apologize, probably, but then what?_ It felt natural to immediately introduce herself and that was the last thing she wanted. _Fuck shit fuck shit fuck...maybe she'll just scream at me and leave once the elevator stops..._

"Hey, are you okay?"

_What the fuck!? Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuck!_

A hand nudged her shoulder and Veronica shrieked more than said, "I'm fine!"

The voice above her chuckled -- chuckled or scoffed? -- "So are you just going to keep laying on the gross floor or do you want a hand up?"

Before she could think on it, Veronica took a breath and a leap of faith and reached up to take the offered hand, allowing herself to be hoisted out of the floor. Steeling herself for the world's most awkward reunion, Veronica shrank into her coat and tousled hair and started to open her mouth to sputter out anything but was stopped as Heather immediately turned to collect her fallen belongings. She picked up her leather side bag and umbrella before turning, Veronica quickly avoiding her gaze by dropping back down to her knees and picking up the scattered papers.

"I-I'm so sorry." She rushed out, "I'm a klutz a-and it's slippery in here and I never m-meant to h-hit you--"

"It happens."

_What the fuck times two?_

Heather kneeled down to help her and said casually, "This rain is a pain in the ass. I hope it's done by morning."

Veronica looked at her directly now, far too stunned to think about the consequences. "You're not mad?"

"No?" Heather met her gaze, a confused but cordial smile on her face, "Why would I be? It's not like you meant to do that."

They stared at each other in strained silence, both seeming to be searching the other's face for something: Veronica for false kindness and a hidden wrath and Heather for...recognition?

The elevator door opened with a loud _ding_ and Heather broke their shared stare, quickly taking the last of her papers from Veronica and rising to stand again. She left the elevator without another word, turning out of view and leaving Veronica still crouched on the floor. Hurrying to get up and sure she was completely insane, Veronica nearly tripped over her own feet trying to chase Heather when she was actually tripped by something thin wrapped around her ankles. Her head smacked against the floor for the second time and she groaned to herself as she sat up to find what tripped her.

A Walkman, of all the things, had tangled around her feet without seeming to break the device or the headphones. Yanking it free and wadding up it's cord, Veronica lurched to her feet again and exited the elevator in time to catch a glimpse of Heather's black skirt turn the corner down another hall. "Hey..." Veronica whispered uselessly, walking forward almost begrudgingly, "you forgot..."

Sighing and upping her pace, Veronica resigned herself to whatever came next and half-walked half-jogged around the corner. Just as she did, Heather opened the door to an apartment and promptly shut it behind her.

The apartment right beside Veronica's.

Looking between her own door to Heather's door to Heather's Walkman, Veronica shook her head with a humorless laugh and said, "Fuck _me_ gently with a chainsaw."


	2. One Of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They passed me by, all of those great romances  
>  You were, I felt, robbing me of my rightful chances  
> My picture clear, everything seemed so easy  
> And so I dealt you the blow  
> One of us had to go  
> Now it's different, I want you to know_  
> 

Veronica stared at the Walkman like it would rise into the air and start chanting ancient Latin.

Taking a stressed puff of her cigarette, she moved her gaze to the wall she shared with the neighbors like it would offer anymore answers. 

Last night had been...eventful, to say the least.

Veronica saw Heather Chandler for the first time in ten years and was treating it like the first sighting of Bigfoot. Her neighbors -- _holy shit I've been hearing Heather and whoever she lives with fighting this whole time_ \-- had actually made it through the night without a screaming match. She called her mom and couldn't explain why she just suddenly broke down into sobs and an eventual panic attack. An hour on the phone and a handy-dandy dose of her prescribed venlafaxine and Veronica was sleeping until noon.

Thank god for the weekend.

She had been awake for only a few hours but had already gone through half a pack of her smokes, wondering just how in the hell she was going to return the device sitting on her desk in front of her. The obvious solution was to just drop it right in front of the door and leave it there -- but what if it get stolen? 

_Okay, so drop it then knock then leave._

But what if they don't see it and step on it?

 _Then buy a fucking replacement as a sorry gift?_ It was an older model anyway, it couldn't be that expensive to replace -- _no, I am not buying Heather fucking Chandler a new Walkman if she or her dick of a boyfriend step on it!_

Curious now about it, Veronica set her cigarette aside to take the cassette player in hand. Just to check which model it is. She assured herself despite her fingers immediately finding the button to open it and studying the cassette as she wondered what Heather had been listening to.

The radio in Heather Duke's jeep was one thing she rarely took control of and she never really showed a preference for anything anyone else played, so what could she like so much to carry with her? Veronica's first instinct was pop, something like Madonna or Cyndi Lauper or maybe Janet Jackson or Prince. Or maybe something grungy like Nirvana or Pearl Jam. Or something snooty and fancy, like a French opera about a soldier going to war and leaving his love behind. The anticipation was getting to her and Veronica quickly pushed the button, leaning forward to read the album title and see that it was...

ABBA.

"Are you fucking kidding me." She whispered to herself incredulously, taking the cassette out to study it closer. Nope, it was ABBA, _The Visitors_ to be specific. 

_Heather Chandler listens to_ ABBA?

Veronica sat back for just a moment before lurching forward to put the tape back in the player and pulling the headphones on, suddenly sure that it maybe used to be an ABBA album but had been made into a mixtape with other, less innocent songs on it. Pressing play, Veronica couldn't help but laugh out loud as 'Head Over Heels' started up from halfway through.

Sitting with a stupid grin on her face as she let the song finish and the tape move onto the next song, Veronica couldn't help but think about how many kids in high school would have loved to know that the demon queen of Westerburg was an ABBA fan. It was a nice fantasy, imagining all the ways the student body could flip the tables on their worst nightmare and make her cower and squirm. She'd definitely deserve it for the way she--

Veronica stopped herself and took a long drag on her cigarette. 

Martha had said it best the summer before they left for college.

"You know, even after everything that happened, I'm not mad at Heather Chandler."

"Wait, what?" Veronica stopped toasting her marshmallow to look at her friend, "Really?"

She nodded, still watching her own marshmallow turn golden brown and gooey in the fire. "Yeah. Don't get me wrong -- she was awful, but knowing now that she might have hated herself enough to try and...well, _ya'know._ " It was a subject a little too tender on both of their hearts. Martha was out of the scooter after three months and was now bound to crutches until her physical therapist said otherwise. "I feel sorry for her," Martha continued, "and I think that me pitying her is the best 'payback' or 'revenge' I can have."

"She deserved some payback." Veronica whispered. She could almost hear JD repeating the phrase to her after they left Heather's house that morning.

Martha looked at Veronica, her expression disappointed and mildly shocked. "No one deserves to go through something like that, not even Heather Chandler. That's cruel, Veronica."

Yes, it was. And did she hate herself for it? Yes, she did.

Being made fun of for a week or two by a bunch of rabid high schoolers was deserved. Being fed drain cleaner and getting emitted to the ICU for who knows how long was beyond cruel.

The guilt of it all was something that haunted Veronica steadily for years. It had certainly waned over time, only coming back to her now and again with little reminders or the sporadic vivid nightmare. She could make it through a full hour without hyperventilating, something she thought would be impossible when she was a freshman in college and afraid everyone who looked her way knew she was a murderer. It had taken so long for her to finally relax and breathe, reminding herself that no one knew and no one would know unless Heather decided to say anything.

_Why hasn't she said anything? Why is she here? What is she doing in Boston? She seemed...normal, nice even, what happened to the mega-bitch? What happened to her?_

Veronica pulled the headphones off and stopped the Walkman, studying it like it would answer all of her questions. 

She was up before she could think any further, body moving purely on dread and adrenaline as she opened the door to her apartment and took slow but measured steps to the next door over. Her hands were shaking and her mind was screaming at her to turn around and go back, but Veronica knew deep down it was now or never and knocked gently on the door. 

Suddenly aware that she was still in her old Brown University sweatshirt and dark blue pajama pants that were definitely more than a little ratty, Veronica was starting to convince herself to just drop the Walkman and run before her body lurched forward and she knocked more firmly against the door, swearing out loud at herself but still rooted to the spot.

A voice on the other side called for her to _'hold your horses! jesus...'_ and Veronica tensed so hard she thought she'd cramp up into nothing. The door opened about halfway to reveal the man -- boyfriend, husband, whatever the hell -- with only a grey towel wrapped around his waist. His dark brown hair was damp but combed back smoothly, the stubble Veronica had seen on his face now missing and a bit of shaving cream still on his neck. He looked down his nose at her and frowned deeply while asking, "Can I help you?"

Throat completely closed and near suffocating on nothing, Veronica raised the Walkman and hoped it would be enough.

He looked at it and let out an almost incredulous chuckle. "Wow, the hunk of junk returns."

"It's Heather's, right?" Veronica breathlessly asked, trying hard not to sound as scared as she felt.

"Yeah," The man glanced over his shoulder once then asked, "do you two go to school together or something?"

Her heart practically stopped beating.

"Yes." She answered quietly.

He nodded and opened the door wider, turning on his heel and calling, "Hey! Heather! Your vintage relic came back!" He then threw over his shoulder to Veronica, "You can come in by the way."

She didn't know what compelled her to obey but Veronica knew the time for berating herself and screaming inside her mouth was over as she crossed the threshold into the apartment. It was nicely decorated -- much nicer than her own despite being the exact same -- with a nice leather loveseat in the center of the living room and a television set placed against the wall in front of it. Behind the loveseat was a light blue bicycle that rested on it's front wheel, wedged between two bookcases that were filled with thick books and a few pieces of pottery and plants. Artwork was placed sporadically on the walls, some looking like expensive oil paintings that belonged in museums and some much more 'new age' and transgressive. 

The man -- seemingly not bothered by a stranger in his home while he was nearly naked -- left Veronica at the open door and sauntered to the kitchen to pour himself a coffee. "Heather!" He yelled a little louder, not looking up from his drink.

"What?" The exasperated voice came from the hall where Veronica knew the bathroom was and she found herself smiling for some reason. Maybe it was from a deeply buried genuine excitement to see her friend again, maybe it was because she was breaking down, or maybe it was because somethings never changed. Heather's whine had stayed the same after all these years and there was something about it that suddenly made Veronica nostalgic.

"Your friend's here!"

The good feeling was gone.

"Who?"

Finally looking up from his coffee, the man looked at Veronica and asked, "Who are you again?"

The shaking was back, and Veronica felt like running away and vomiting. Her mind raced to think of an excuse to leave now, or a fake name, or how to breathe again, but she was completely lost to panic now and instead blurted out, "Veronica." A pause to try and let her brain catch up with retraction and a lie before-- "Sawyer."

She waited for the man's face to fall, to recognize her and either throw the hot coffee on her to melt her or to start screaming with that deep voice she would hear through her bedroom wall. He did nothing, only moved to grab an apple out of a bowel of various fruits on the counter top and take a bite out of it after loudly announcing, "Veronica Sawyer!"

Veronica clutched the Walkman with both hands now, nearly holding it out in front of her like it was a crucifix that would stop the demon a room away from rushing out and sucking her soul from her body. She swore she wasn't breathing, her ears straining to hear something-- anything coming from down the hall.

There was a brief period of silence before the hinges of a door squeaked and rapid footfalls on the carpet followed. Nearly tripping over her own feet as she turned the corner into the living room, their eyes met and Veronica and Heather stood and looked, taking each other in.

Heather looked as well dressed as Veronica did, wearing a baggy t-shirt that clearly didn't belong to her and black sweatpants -- a far cry from the pink silk robe Veronica had last seen her in -- with messy hair that seemed more frizz than curl, a toothbrush clutched in one hand and toothpaste still in her gaping mouth.

Trying to force words out, Veronica carefully held the Walkman out and could only manage a strangled noise that seemed to be somewhere between a nervous laugh and a sob.

Blue-grey eyes that looked as though they'd bug out of their sockets at any moment looked from the music player back at Veronica's face. Heather's entire face paled and the hand not gripping the toothbrush like she would snap it in two slowly came to hold her stomach, clutching the fabric of the t-shirt with white knuckles.

Cutting through the tension and seemingly oblivious to it, the man chimed in, "So, you two in the same class?"

Heather opened and closed her mouth before letting out a throaty gasp, dropping her toothbrush and clamping a hand over her mouth as she turned and dashed back down the hall, the sounds of her retching coming soon after. Her boyfriend's only response was to sigh and place his half-eaten apple on the counter, making his way around Veronica and into the bathroom. He paused in the entrance of the hall and said to her, "You can sit down, she should be done in a few."

Veronica gingerly sat on the edge of the leather loveseat, exhaling slowly through her teeth as she berated herself for thinking this was a good idea.

_But I wasn't thinking. I just started walking. Stupid fucking no impulse control..._

She didn't know what was considered 'a few', but even the empty room was starting to feel tense and uncomfortable. Veronica busied herself by carefully coiling the headphone wire and wiping at a few dirty streaks on the Walkman's case. It was more than just a little banged up, but the dents and dings and scratches and missing paint were clearly from years of heavy use and not from being thrown into the floor. Turning it over to the backside, Veronica squinted at what looked like faded marker just along the bottom. It looked like initials, but not Heather's.

_I wonder who BC is...maybe her boyfriend?_

She was pulled from her thoughts as said boyfriend reentered, but this time fully clothed and with a shrinking Heather behind him. The blonde stopped in the doorway again and leaned against the frame, arms less crossed over her chest and more wrapped around herself and her eyes firmly stuck to the floor. 

Boyfriend-- Husband-- _Man,_ was wearing white pants and a black shirt with dirty tennis shoes and he didn't even acknowledge Veronica as he walked past her and around the couch. She could hear him shuffling with something before he walked back around with a duffle that had a baseball bat handle sticking out at the end. He pulled a well-worn hat from the bag and put it on his head while saying, "Well, you two have fun. I'm meeting the guys for a, uh, friendly game with the Eastside Gentleman's Club."

"When will you be back?" Heather asked. Her voice seemed uncharacteristically quiet and she still refused to lift her head.

"Baby, it's baseball. It's over when it's over." Man said with a scoff and a smirk. "I'll be home late. I don't care what you make for dinner, just put a plate for me in the microwave." He approached her to lean down and kiss her on the cheek quickly then promptly gave Veronica a nod and left.

The shutting door filled Veronica with the overwhelming sense of dread again. She felt like she had entered the cage of a wild animal at the zoo. Actually, she was pretty sure she'd rather take the wild animal over whatever the fuck was about to happen.

They stood in thick silence, neither looking at each other or moving from their respective spots, and both unwilling to make the first move. 

Biting her lip and steeling herself, Veronica wet her lips and closed her eyes as she opened her mouth to say, "I--"

"Lets just get this over with." Heather sighed in frustration. Veronica slowly looked towards her to watch the blonde leave the doorway and stomp over to the loveseat. Heather slumped heavily into it, leaning as far away from Veronica as possible and still not looking at her. "Go on," She said bitterly, "I know you want to say it."

Confused but wincing at whatever it was she was suppose to say, Veronica pushed the Walkman across the cushions and practically whispered, "You dropped this." Heather snatched it quickly and brought into her lap almost protectively. Feeling a little stronger she mentioned with a lame smile, "I wouldn't have pegged you as an ABBA fan. Is that their latest--"

"Stop."

Veronica flinched and gripped at her pajama pants. She chanced a glance at the blonde and was surprised to see Heather looking just as uncomfortable and shaky as she felt. Slowly, like a lion stalking it's prey, Heather turned her head and lifted her eyes to meet Veronica's. 

"I said I want to get it over with, so just fucking ask it already, Sawyer."

"I'm not sure what I'm suppose to be asking." Veronica replied honestly.

Heather rolled and eyes and scoffed as she sat up and turned the rest of her body to face Veronica fully. She made herself seem open, but everything about her was rigid and taut, like a rubber band about to snap. Inhaling sharply through her nose, Heather stared unblinking into Veronica's eyes as she spoke.

"Yes, I'm doing fine. No, I don't know why I did it. No, I don't remember what I was thinking. Yes, I realize how stupid it was. Yes, I realized that I almost died." Her voice faltered on the word 'died' but she continued, "Yes, I am aware it's a miracle that I'm alive. No, I do not want to discuss it. Yes, it was painful. Yes, I have permanent damage and scarring in my mouth and throat. No, it does not affect my ability to eat. Yes, I'm sure you think it's unimaginable. That about cover it?"

"Are those the things people really ask the most?" Veronica intended it to be a light-hearted tease, but it came out much sadder than she intended.

"They're the most I'm willing to answer." Heather replied while looking at the music player in her lap. "People asking the same questions over and over again gets annoying, so it's just easier to run down the list and hope they shut up. Lucky for me, I don't really run into people from back then that much. But now here you are. What are even doing here?"

"I live here?" Veronica said with a tense smile and a shrug. Heather seemed wholly unimpressed with the answer and so she began to elaborate. "I went to Brown University for English and journalism, got a part time job with the campus newspaper, then got offered a job at a legit company that was up and coming, left that and got hired on at the Providence Journal and worked there for a few years, then moved to Plymouth and did crappy work for Pilot News, and then about two years ago I got a job here as an editor for the Boston Herald."

Heather's eyebrows raised slightly. "No kidding." Veronica couldn't help but smile and felt a surge of pride fill her chest at impressing the other woman. She gestured to the blonde in a silent _'your turn'_ motion and expression and even moved herself slightly in an attempt to return the 'open' body language. The blonde just shook her head, "There's not a lot to say. Nothing as interesting as what you've done."

"Oh come on," Veronica spoke with a slight tease, "you didn't just suddenly poof from Ohio to Massachusetts. And hey, I'm asking a new question. Can't get annoyed with that."

"Actually, I can." Heather snapped, suddenly tense again and closing herself off. 

Frowning but refusing to completely back down, the brunette dropped the light-hearted tone to take on a more serious one. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry or be nosy or whatever. I know this is all kind of a lot all at once and to be honest I'm still kinda freaked out about this whole situation."

By degrees, Heather seemed to relax again. "It's just...insane that this is happening." She admitted, "I thought I did a great job convincing myself that that wasn't you last night in the elevator but no, God hates me and it's really you. And you even live here in this building? It's just so..."

Veronica watched her trail off and decided to test the waters a little by smiling slightly and supplying, "Very?"

Heather looked over at her and returned the smile, "I was going to say serendipitous, but sure. How _very._ "

"Now there's a four dollar word I wouldn't have expected ten years ago."

"You're not the only one who's educated, Sawyer." 

The two fell back into a lull, this one much more comfortable than the last. Heather went back to looking down at her Walkman while rubbing her fingers along the dented case, and Veronica took the opportunity to study her. 

There had been very few times Veronica had seen Heather Chandler without make-up, and never had she been this close. From her strong jaw to her naturally long eyelashes, she truly didn't need the makeup to look beautiful. And even ten years older, her face seemed to retain the unblemished skin and youthfulness of their teenage years. Her face did seem much thinner than before, her cheeks looking a little hollow but even that only seemed to help by pronouncing her already high cheekbones. Something did stick out to Veronica, something she had seen glimpses of before but never this clearly: freckles. Heather practically had a face full of them, very faint but very much seen in the absence of foundation and powder. They extended down to her arms and it suddenly make sense why she would always insist on wearing sleeves no matter the occasion. The natural waves and curls of her strawberry blonde hair were almost lost between the equally natural frizz. This was something Veronica had seen before having watched her bemoan her hair's inability to cooperate easily. It was much easier to conceal behind the trends of teasing and 'big hair' or with the help of a little red scrunchie. Now it just looked like a verifiable rats nest, and yet it somehow looked pretty and uniform.

Even wearing wrinkly, too-big for her clothes, Heather looked stunning. Veronica could only roll her eyes because of course she did, looking fabulous was practically a genetic trait. Definitely didn't help Veronica from feeling -- and looking -- much closer to her 'nobody' days before joining the Heathers, what with her 'well loved' pajamas and knotted hair that she was sure was sticking out in every which way. She was so caught up thinking about her 'very okay' looks that she almost didn't realize Heather was saying something.

"I'm...sorry I didn't call or whatever." Heather seemed to consider her words carefully as she continued, "They told me I could invite friends during visiting hours but...I guess I just wouldn't know what to say so...I never did."

"It's okay." Veronica whispered back. The guilt was beginning to bubble in her stomach again.

"I thought being in the ICU sucked but God, Veronica, the psych ward was fucking _awful._ They wouldn't leave me alone to eat or sleep or even piss. Twenty-four-seven nurses just following you around and breathing down your neck, people freaking out over nothing, getting shoved into thirty different types of therapy in a single day. It was like high school but worse because I couldn't control any of it. And God forbid you say something they don't want to hear or try and argue with them." She let out a humorless chuckle, "I don't remember whatever mental break I had that made me do what I did, but Christ did I feel like I was having one even worse than that."

Veronica's mouth was full of cotton.

 _You didn't have a mental break._ She tried to say. _You shouldn't have been there in the first place._ It got stuck in her throat along side the cereal she ate that morning so she just let Heather continue.

"After I got released I thought I'd be free but nope, straight into private schooling. My father was already pissed at my little stunt and trying to recover his image and would sooner eat crow than watch me not get a diploma. Doing your senior year in your house fucking blows. Especially when there's no Friday night football games or homecoming or prom. As soon as it was over and I was allowed to actually leave the house, I got the hell out of there." Heather leaned back and closed her eyes as she spoke, "I told my family I was 'taking a year off' before college and 'trying to figure things out'. They ate that shit up. I bought a one-way ticket to London and didn't look back. I drifted around Europe and did whatever the hell I wanted for two years. I was out of my father's hair and not around to embarrass him anymore, so he didn't care about all the money I was blowing on hotels and clubs. And no one said a single thing. No one knew anything about me, I was just the pretty blonde who would agree to pretty much anything. I wasn't 'crazy' or 'tragic', no one pitied me. It was fucking _awesome._ "

Heather paused to gather her thoughts and started again with less enthusiasm. "I definitely fell in with the wrong crowd, but I didn't care. I just wanted to have fun and forget about all the bullshit from before. Booze, drugs, sex -- I didn't care what it was so long as I wasn't thinking about Sherwood. It stopped being fun after a while and I knew I had to try and get my life together. Who would've thought the crap they told me in therapy would actually apply? I went to New York to try and figure something out and well, here I am. Second year in school, apartment with a boyfriend, and no thoughts about high school. At least until you showed up." She let out a long sigh then, "I haven't actually told anyone all that. It feels nice to say it all out loud."

Finding her voice again, hoarse as it may be, Veronica narrowed her brows and asked, "Your boyfriend doesn't know?"

"Christian? God no. He just thinks I graduated like normal and lived abroad for a few years." Her expression turned sour and she added with a low voice, "So don't even think about bringing any of this shit up around him."

"I-I won't. Where do you go to school?" She was very eager to change the subject, hoping the crawling sensation on her skin would go away again.

"Harvard Law."

"Holy shit."

Heather laughed, a genuine one that Veronica hadn't actually heard before. "I had the same reaction when I got accepted. Although I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty sure it was my father's bank account that got me in. Everyone loves a charity case." The last part came out bitterly and Veronica couldn't help but frown.

"Hey," She moved without thinking, placing her hand on Heather's shoulder while sitting forward, "so what if that's how you got in? Harvard was my number one and I didn't even come close -- and you know how obsessed with test scores I was. You're on your second year, so you've got to be holding your own. You should be proud of that, Heather. Especially considering you pulled yourself out a shitty situation. That's something not a lot of people can do."

A hand came up to cover her own and give it a light squeeze of appreciation, Heather watching her with misty eyes and a small smile. Her voice came out strained as she whispered, "I heard about Kurt and Ram. And Jason Dean." Veronica wanted so badly to recoil from the other woman's touch and let her mind be lost to memories of brown eyes and broad grins. But the weight of Heather's hand on her own was enough to ground her and prevent her mind from wandering anywhere but the blue-grey eyes that stared back at her. "When I found out, I honestly didn't know what to think. I mean Kurt and Ram were gay? I never could have imagined that happening. And when I heard about Jason Dean..."

Veronica reached with her free hand to wipe away the tears in her eyes. "It's okay..." She muttered uselessly. At this point she didn't know if the tears were for J.D. or for herself.

"It's really not. It's no secret that I didn't like him but you were nuts about him and I...I should have called you or something. I was shitty to so many people, but my biggest regret was being shitty to my friends. I shut everyone out but I hated shutting you out the most because it meant I never got to apologize for whatever happened at the Remington party. I don't remember a lot; I was drunk and probably high -- but those are just shitty excuses."

 _There it is._ Veronica went stiff, her breath catching in her throat at it's mention. _This is it. This is where it happens._

Her voice came out hushed. "You...don't remember?" _It's a setup. She's about to call checkmate on you._

"Not really. I remember stopping at the 7/11 and getting to the party, I remember leaving you with Brad and going with David," Heather shuddered at his name, "I remember us fighting but not what it was about, I remember you leaving, and then everything else is a blur. I don't even remember getting home or waking up. I don't remember... _it,_ either." She trailed off and lowered her gaze in shame, the whole act making Veronica's stomach curdle. "Look, what ever it was we were fighting about, I'm sorry. I know it's kind of pointless now, ten years later, but I really am sorry. I just didn't want you thinking it was your fault somehow."

_Oh, Heather, dear sweet Heather. If only you knew._

_But she doesn't._ A dark voice seemed murmur in her ear. _Good. Keep it that way._

Even in death he was still acting like the devil on her shoulder.

Heather looked up at her again and gave her a half-smile. "Want to know something sad? I think I dreamed you were there that morning. I could swear I saw you in my room. The doctors said it's probably a false memory my mind created to try and block out the trauma, but I like to pretend it's real. It's...comforting to know that I wasn't alone."

"I was there." Veronica barely whispered.

Taken aback but still slightly smiling in confusion, Heather looked at her incredulously. "What?" She asked in an equally soft voice.

"I was there," Veronica repeated. "and you didn't try to kill yourself, Heather."

It all came out at once, the fight at the party and J.D. appearing in her window, the 'hang-over cure' and the forged note. She kept going too, the words tumbling one after another as Veronica told her about Kurt and Ram and the rise of Heather Duke, the bottle of pills in the bathroom and the plot to bomb the school. And throughout it all Heather just sat in stunned and horrified silence. What made it so much worse for Veronica was the eye contact. Heather just wouldn't look away, and as much as Veronica wanted to she knew she couldn't either.

When Veronica had finished and made futile attempts to stop her sobs, Heather still remained quiet. She had long since dropped the hand holding Veronica's and had gone back to gripping the fabric of her shirt tightly over her stomach like she'd vomit any second, her eyes searching the brunette's face for something unknown.

"Heather, I'm so sorry." Veronica wept, "I'm so sorry for everything."

"Get out." Heather breathed.

"W-what?" She hadn't heard over her own harsh sniffles and attempts at wiping her nose.

There was a sudden familiar anger on Heather's face and fury in her eyes as she roared, " _Get the fuck out!_ "

Veronica lurched off the loveseat and was out the door in seconds, not caring at how she slammed the door shut and then threw open her own door to slam too. She collapsed just inside the door to make herself as small as possible and cry. 

She sat on the cold floor for a prolonged period of time before dragging herself up and into her bedroom. It was barely midday but she was already so tired. The emotional exhaustion was catching up to her and if she was about to be arrested she at least wanted one last good sleep in her own bed. Veronica hid beneath her sheets and hoped she could forget everything that happened for just a moment.

She dreamed of Kurt and Ram, both standing away from her while leaking tar like blood from the bullet holes in their chest and throat respectively. When they finally let her be, a tall figure in a trench coat appeared with a wicked grin, empty black pits for eyes, and a body covered in blood and explosives. Veronica flinched away from J.D. as he reached out to grab her arms and when she opened her eyes he was gone. In his place was a young Heather Chandler, clad in her pink robe and red scrunchie. Her eyes were completely white and Veronica gasped as light blue drain cleaner began leaking from them, then from her nose, and finally from the corners of her lips. 

"I'm sorry, Heather!" Veronica pleaded, willing the ghost to release her, "You're okay now! Please! You're not like this!" The ghost only smiled at her, showing teeth that were dyed blue as more poison streamed out of her mouth.

"But those are just shitty excuses." The younger Heather parroted the older one, "Isn't it comforting to know you're not alone?" Behind her voice was a gentle but steady _tick-tick-tick-tick_ and just as Veronica realized what it was it was too late. She flew out of bed with a shriek, attempting to steady her heart and breathing.

"Just a dream...just a dream..." She told herself. When she could breathe normally again and returned to bed, Veronica hoped the nightmares were done for the day.

When she eventually fell back asleep she was treated to an encore.


	3. The Name Of The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I've seen you twice, in a short time  
>  Only a week since we started  
> It seems to me, for every time  
> I'm getting more open-hearted  
> I was an impossible case  
> No-one ever could reach me  
> But I think I can see in your face  
> There's a lot you can teach me  
> So I wanna know_  
> 

When Veronica was woken up by loud knocking on her door, she was sure it was because of what she did in the laundry room.

In her defense, that dryer ate her money and was asking to be hit more than a few times. So what if it may be sporting a pretty sizeable dent? Her only regret was that she didn't even get her two bucks back.

Rolling to her side to look at her clock, she loudly groaned at the time. Three in the morning on a Tuesday was a hell of a time for the landlord to come chew her out. Work was in three hours and she had gotten home late again -- Veronica did not want to have to face the day on only four hours of sleep. She buried her face in her pillow and decided to just ignore the knocks in favor of more sleep.

But it wouldn't stop.

If anything, the knocks became louder and closer together until it sounded like the door would be flung off it's hinges. Veronica threw her sheets off and grumbled to herself about her neighbors complaining about the noise as she pulled on her house shoes and stomped out of the bedroom. She grabbed a wayward blanket out of her comfy chair in the living room to wear as a shawl before standing in front of the door to try and think about what she was going to say. _Apologize, probably._ _But then chew them out for the noise and the time._ Veronica squared her shoulders and put on her best bitch face before opening the door as far as the chain lock would allow. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She spat, "Do you even know what time it is?"

From the crack in the door, Heather leaned into view and glared back at her. Veronica froze instantly, all of her former bravado draining out of her in seconds. "Open the door, Sawyer." Heather slurred as she propped herself up on the doorframe.

It had been two weeks since Veronica had signed her death sentence. The first week she spent in absolute terror, flinching every time the apartment door next to hers would open. She had started leaving earlier than usual in the mornings just so she could avoid running into Heather's boyfriend -- Chris? Christ? Whatever the fuck his name is -- getting home later and later each day was just an added bonus. She avoided the elevator so she could eliminate the possibility of another, more awkward, journey up three stories. The stairs were better the first couple of days, but over time it started to feel like she had eyes on her back as she climbed or descended them.

The eerie silence is what really shook her. Much like high school, Veronica waited with bated breath to be forced to face the demon queen and be skinned alive. But, much like high school, Heather Chandler vanished.

Her daily routine for school still hadn't been deciphered. The only times Veronica heard her apartment door open and close were when her boyfriend was leaving. Maybe she was just biding her time or gathering whatever she needed to get in contact with the police. The fact that Heather was in school to be a lawyer hadn't hit Veronica until days later and she literally smacked herself in the forehead. She was _so_ fucked when Heather decided it was time.

And now, two weeks later and three in the morning, it seemed to be time. Just like before in the elevator, Heather Chandler just unexpectedly dropped back into her life and demanded attention. A big difference now, Veronica noticed as she unlocked and fully opened her door, was that Heather looked absolutely trashed.

To an outside viewer, she'd just look like a normal person. Maybe a little tired or a little tipsy. But Veronica had seen an inebriated Heather Chandler more times than she could count and knew immediately the state the woman was in. And what a state it was -- Heather had taken to leaning fully into the door frame, her curled hair the slightest bit unruly and her near perfect lipstick barely smudged. Her eyeliner and mascara were still pristine, but behind them her eyes were slightly irritated and very tired. Even her outfit had one too many wrinkles in it for it to be considered presentable, but it was always an impressive sight to see her able to walk in five inch heels.

All in all, she was drunk as shit.

Veronica tucked the blanket around herself closer and managed to stammer out a fearful, "H-Heather?"

Pushing herself off the frame and taking a single step into the apartment, Heather looked down her nose at Veronica as she brought a finger up. It harshly poked the brunette in the chest as she leaned close enough for Veronica to smell the alcohol on her breath. "We're going. Put pants on."

"What? What are you talking about--"

The finger turned into a hand and Heather used it to roughly shove Veronica backwards. "You wanna talk?" She sneered, "Lets fucking talk. Stop looking homeless and lets go."

Unwilling to argue and resigning herself to getting stabbed in an alleyway, Veronica ducked away from the blonde and into her bedroom. She reached for yesterday's clothes begrudgingly and took her tennis shoes in hand. Stepping out and back into the living room, Veronica stopped upon realizing that Heather was gone.

"Heather?" She called carefully, creeping towards the still open door and beginning to wonder if this was just another hallucination. Poking her head out the door she was reassured that no, it was very real, and Heather had just moved outside to press her forehead against the wall. Realizing she was being stared at, Heather righted herself and started walking down the hallway without Veronica. "Hey! Wait! I don't even have my shoes on!" 

By the time Veronica struggled into her shoes and made it to the elevator room, Heather was already inside and letting the doors slide shut on Veronica's face. Groaning and turning to rush to the stairs, she couldn't help but wonder just how she got into this situation. Basically flying down three flights of stairs, chasing after a woman she nearly killed in their youth -- who was also drunk, and possibly about to die herself. She was heaving by the time she reached the bottom and pushed the door open into the front lobby, thankful to see Heather briskly walking towards her.

Her thankfulness was gone as the other woman blazed passed her and out the front doors without a word. Veronica followed, struggling to keep pace. Heather was always a fast walker, especially when she had a goal on her mind, and it seemed it couldn't be diminished by drink. "Heather, where are we going?" Veronica asked as she jogged to the blonde's side.

"To talk." She answered like it was obvious.

"Okay, but where? And why this early?"

Heather didn't answer. She steered them down two blocks and a few turns before suddenly ducking into the door of a little café. It looked dim inside, like it was definitely closed, but the door proudly stated 'twenty-four hours a day, five days a week!' so she followed again. It was warm inside and completely empty. Some tables had chairs stacked on them and some booths held drying racks full of dishes. The lights were definitely dimmed and a wet floor sign directed them to not step on the hardwood floor but to go to the carpeted side section instead. 

The sign was ignored as Heather stepped over it and onto the hardwood, making her way to the booth in the far back corner and practically collapsing into it. Veronica hesitantly joined her and looked around for anyone else in the building. She caught eyes with someone through a little food window and shrank into herself, feeling very out of place and like she was intruding. The eyes disappeared from the window and the kitchen doors beside their table opened to reveal a brown-haired, older woman in a red waitress uniform.

She stared at Veronica for a long moment with a scrutinizing gaze. "Been here before?" She asked in a heavy northeastern accent. Veronica shook her head and the woman snorted. "Good. And _you,_ " She pivoted to look at the blonde currently laying back on the booth bench, "really? Again?"

Heather slowly rose from the bench and let out an exasperated sigh. "Hi to you too, Shannon."

Shannon put her hands on her hips and looked Heather up and down while saying, "Do you ever come in here not plastered? I'm going to start locking the door every time I see your miserable ass strutting down the sidewalk. At least you brought a babysitter this time."

Veronica continued to shrink into her seat. This was...not going to end well. Heather never took sass from anyone and Veronica had the sinking feeling that there was about to be some kind of fight. 

Sitting up straighter and glaring up at the waitress, Heather and Shannon had a stare-down for long pause before the blonde dropped her head to rest against her fist and murmured, "Beer, I don't care what kind. Tell Javier to make that omelet he made last time."

Shannon rolled her eyes in exaggeration but then raised her brows at Veronica. "Uhm, just a water. Please. And I'm sorry we barged in."

The older woman scoffed, "You really haven't been here before, but at least you know manners. Maybe you can teach Goldilocks here some." The kitchen door opened again and a dark-haired man poked his head out to smile widely at the booth. His mouth opened to say something but Shannon bopped him on top of the head and said, "Nope! No time to talk now, you got two orders and the table's a real bitcher if you mess it up!" 

"I just wanted to see which Heather we get tonight!" He said with a playful grin. "Is it Sad-Heather or Angry-Heather?"

"Fuck off, Javi." Heather spat without looking at him.

He winced and told Shannon, "Angry-Heather for sure."

When they were alone again, Veronica meekly attempted conversation. "So...you're a regular here?"

"Sadly." Heather groaned, "They're the only place close by that stays open late."

"Are you out late often?"

The blonde gave Veronica a look that ended the conversation. She eventually pulled her head up to stare at Veronica intensely. "Tell me again."

"Tell you what?"

"Everything. Tell it to me again."

Looking from the kitchen door to the window, Veronica lowered her voice. "Do you really want to talk about this here? I mean Shannon seems great and all but...this is--"

"A confession to attempted murder?" Heather said loudly. Veronica flinched and watched the door in terror, relaxing when it stayed shut. "Tell me again." Heather repeated darkly, "or I'll tell everyone."

Veronica was unable to hold in her snark. "What? Are you gonna find a rooftop to shout from?"

Heather leaned across the table and snatched the front of Veronica's shirt to drag her closer. The brunette couldn't help but cringe away from the smell of alcohol and tried to squirm free out of fear. "You work at the Boston Herald." Heather's voice sounded much clearer as she spoke. "You're an editor there. You have degrees in English and journalism. There aren't a lot of places you could run to that I couldn't call first. I can ruin you if I wanted to, Sawyer. A few phone calls and you're _fucked._ So tell me again, bitch."

For a drunk, she had a pretty solid memory. But of course Heather would remember the details. Remembering details were what made her so feared in Westerburg. And Veronica wouldn't lie, it was a terrifying threat. She had only thought about being arrested, she didn't consider her career and reputation ruined. As soon as she started talking her shirt was released and she could sit back down. This retelling was less shaky than the last and much faster. Veronica refused to cry again, especially with the deadly look in Heather's eyes. She remained stoic this time, though Veronica could see her clenching and unclenching her jaw every now and again.

"Was that any different than before?" Veronica asked hesitantly. She was still trying to figure out what Heather was getting at.

"Like I would know," Heather snorted, "I was too busy being dead, remember?"

As soon as she finished saying that the kitchen door opened again to reveal Shannon holding a tray in one hand. She slid Veronica's water across the table to her and put a white mug in front of Heather to begin pouring coffee into it. It wasn't the beer she ordered, but the blonde said nothing as another water was placed before her along with an empty glass. "Javi's almost finished so we get to have girl talk before he comes out and steals all the attention. How's the bastard?" Shannon said casually while tossing the tray onto a nearby table.

" _Christian,_ and he is fine." Heather said with a glare.

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Goldilocks -- so how's 'quitting' going?" Heather scoffed and looked away while Shannon smirked in victory. "Thought so. Does your little girlfriend know about your bad habits or do I get to tell her?"

"She's not my friend."

Veronica awkwardly inserted herself into the conversation by meekly adding, "We're really not. We just knew each other in high school and thought it'd be nice to catch up." The kitchen door opened for the man -- _Javier I guess_ \-- as he walked out with two plates of steaming omelets. 

"Woah, high school?" He grinned and looked from Veronica to Heather, "You gotta tell me all about it." Heather shot him a glare too and he held up his hands defensively, "Hey if you won't I'll just find someone who will!" He slid into the booth beside Heather and playfully pushed her over while directing his attention to the brunette. "So tell me all about it! Did she have an awkward phase? Was it braces? I have money on braces."

Heather pushed Javier back and said with a smile, "That's rich coming from the guy that wore short-shorts."

He placed a hand on his chest in faux offense. "That was Europe's fault for deciding to torture their school children, not mine!"

"You're from Europe?" Veronica asked. She took a small bite of her omelet and added, "Holy shit this is good."

Javier puffed his chest out and said, "Yep! Born and raised in Portugal before moving to the land of opportunity! Although between you and me, I really only stay for the beautiful women." He nudged Heather in the ribs while saying it and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't listen to him," She directed to Veronica, "he thinks that just because he's buff, tan, attractive and has an accent that every woman he meets will fuck him. So the stereotype for a player."

Veronica had to admit, Heather wasn't wrong. Javier was very... _very._ His eyes were dark and warm and Veronica definitely noticed how tight his shirt was -- probably on purpose. Most men she met and dated we're like her: very okay. _But this guy.._

He flashed her a toothy smile and she could swear there was a twinkle on those pearly whites.

_...daaaamn._

"So high school," Shannon interrupted Veronica's less than kosher train of thought, "I suppose that makes you one of the 'Heathers' that I've heard about."

"Uh no actually. I'm a Veronica. But I was part of the group for a little while." She was careful with what she said, especially with the death-glare Heather was giving her. "We became friends at the end of our sophomore year and we're pretty close in our junior."

"And senior year?" Shannon asked while pulling a chair over and sitting with her arms folded across her chest.

Veronica looked at Heather again and tried to think of something to say. The blonde saved her from a possible verbal vomit by saying, "I went to private school and we stopped talking. Our interests didn't align anymore."

Javier reached over Heather's plate and took her mug of coffee to steal a quick sip from it, immune to her poisonous stare and taking the clear glass in his other hand to begin pouring the coffee into it. He set it in front of Heather and turned the mug upside down. Pointing to the hot coffee that had started steaming up the glass, he looked at Veronica and asked, "Do you know what this is? When I first met her I thought this was an American thing but apparently it's just a Heather thing."

She smiled back at him in confusion. "Drinking coffee out of a glass?"

"Drinking _everything_ out of a glass." He leaned forward and added in a stage whisper, "If you try and give her a drink in a non-clear cup she gets really _really_ mad. I keep hoping I can get her one day." Veronica's smile quickly vanished and her heart clenched in her chest. 

It wasn't something Veronica ever would have thought of, but it made perfect sense. If she had drank from a cup without seeing it's contents and almost died from it, she'd probably want to always see what she was drinking too.

"I really don't know." She lied while trying to smile again. She glanced over to the blonde, looking for some kind of reaction. If Heather was bothered it didn't show; she only sat and calmly ate her food before taking a pointed drink of the coffee. "So, did you two meet in Europe?" Veronica returned her gaze to the man in hopes of forgetting about the guilt crawling up her spine again.

"No no, I was here when she was there but we do have some mutual friends. We shared a class in Uni and when I dropped out she started coming to visit me here."

"Why'd you drop out?"

Javier gave a half-hearted shrug. "I decided it wasn't for me. I only went to try and impress my parents but I realized I didn't care what they thought. I'm still young and there's too much world to see and not enough time, so I'm saving up to travel."

Veronica nodded along. "That's actually really cool."

"I keep trying to convince this one to come with me," He ribbed Heather again, "but she has a million excuses!"

Heather pushed her now empty plate away and placed her head on the table. "The only thing I want right now is a shot. Of alcohol or in the head, I don't care." Her voice was muffled slightly.

Leaning over and pushing the glass of water against her head, Shannon _tsk'd_ and mentioned in a false sweet voice, "Aww, maybe if you stop coming into my restaurant ten sheets to the wind and I'd give more of a damn."

"School is hell," Heather groaned, "let me have this."

"Oh I'll let you have something." Shannon muttered under her breath. "Sober up and go home before I make you wash dishes. I was reading a really interesting magazine before you stumbled in here."

Javier put his arm around Heather, "Don't listen to her, stay and talk with me until dawn. We can talk about our feelings and complain about our love lives together." The blonde only grunted in response and he frowned, "No? Okay, how about we discuss our favorite books. I'll go first: I've always had a soft spot for Don Quixote."

Veronica couldn't help but grin as she said in a dramatic voice, " _'Thou hast seen nothing yet.'._ " Javier's eyes lit up and he gave her a wide smile. "I was probably the only person who didn't mind the assigned reading in school." She mentioned with a bashful shrug. It felt weird how easily a guy she just met could make her blush. It felt familiar and yet...different.

"I've always been a fan of the classics! I had a copy of Frankenstein that I read so much it was falling apart! Shannon, favorite book?"

She made a face and made an exasperated gesture. "I don't fucking know, To Kill a Mocking Bird?"

The man poked Heather on the back of the head, "Care to share? If you're still alive that is."

Heather lifted her head enough to rest her chin on the table. "The Bell Jar." She said flatly, looking directly at Veronica while saying it.

Javier winced, "Now _that_ I wasn't expecting. You're joking, right?"

"' _If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.'_." She replied, tacking on, "There's your quote for proof."

"So the mystery of Heather Chandler continues. You surprise me more every day." Javier leaned over her and mentioned casually, "Keep it up and I may just fall in love with you."

Veronica shifted uncomfortably in her seat, strangely wounded at his words. _Heather did say he's a player._ She thought while shaking her head to clear it, _But what the fuck do I care about a guy I just met? Sure, he's hot and funny and well-read -- so what? I'm not gonna flip my shit just because a hot guy smiles at me and has one similar interest._

_But holy shit a hot guy smiles at me._

A yawn worked its way out of her mouth and Shannon motioned to the door. "Yeah, go home. And take Grumpy over there with you. If I walk out there and find her passed out on the sidewalk one more time I'm leaving her there."

Veronica fumbled for her wallet before realizing she didn't even bring it. Javier watched the panic on her face and waved her off. "Don't worry about it, I'll always pay for a beautiful woman's meal." She knew the smile on her face was too big to be taken as anything other than coy and she knew she ruined it as she hit him with some awkward finger guns.

"I'll have to get you back. Maybe if you're free we can talk more literature." She knew she was going out on a limb she had no business being on, but goddamn if she wasn't coaxed out there by a pair of gorgeous brown eyes.

He nodded and stood to smile back at her. "I'd like that." The moment would have been nice if Heather hadn't decided to trip herself getting out of the booth and nearly fall on her face. Javier caught her and put her back on her feet while teasing, "Falling for me already?"

Heather pushed away from him and scoffed. "As if." She walked passed Veronica and was almost out the door before the brunette realized they were actually leaving and hurried after her, giving a wave to Shannon and Javier as she exited. Heather wasn't walking as fast as before, somehow seeming more drunk than before. She swayed across the sidewalk and Veronica reached out to steady her by holding her biceps. The blonde turned on her heel and was practically chest to chest with Veronica as she growled, "Don't fucking touch me!"

She wasn't sure what it was about their trip to the café, but Veronica was bolstered by something enough to not be afraid. "Fine, you wanna fall on your ass? Be my guest. I'm trying to help you--"

"And I don't need your help!" Heather's volume was rising, "Stop giving me that pitiful fucking look all the time and stop pretending to be my friend!"

"I only pretended to be your friend back there so your little drinking buddies wouldn't ask too many questions! You're welcome by the way!"

"Oh yeah, thank you _so_ much for spending all that time drooling over a man! Aww, what's wrong, Ronnie? Haven't had a good fuck since Ted Bundy blew himself up to get away from you?" 

Veronica stilled and lost all of her confidence in a matter of seconds. "Heather..." She whispered, feeling all of the emotions from the last two weeks rushing back all at once.

"Oh boo- _fucking_ -hoo!" Heather jeered, "your psycho boy-toy killed himself! And you get all weepy and talk about it like he's some hero? After he killed two people? After he tried to kill me? Fuck you, Veronica!"

The blonde turned to walk away but Veronica grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around, suddenly angry. "No, you know what? Fuck _you,_ Heather! Okay, I have been living in fear of you since middle school and I'm sick of it! I was fine, I was happy, and then you show up and _ruin_ everything! You always do! I already said I was sorry for what happened, but you didn't know him so you don't get to judge him! He was damaged--"

"Jesus--" Heather laughed, "so what, he gets a get out of jail free card? And who the fuck are you to tell me that I can't judge him? Veronica Christ, savior of serial killers?"

"He wasn't a serial killer--"

"Yeah and I'm the queen of _fucking_ England!" She scoffed in disbelief "How delusional are you?"

Veronica clenched her fists tightly. "You know, I used to think that there was good in everyone. That people can change, that they deserve second chances. But you...you are _such_ a _bitch._ And you haven't changed! When I saw you in that elevator or on that couch, I really thought you had! But no, you continue to be the absolute _worst!_ I can't even pity you anymore because you're a literal hellion!"

Heather leaned in closer and ground out through clenched teeth, "I don't _need_ your fucking pity! I don't _need_ anything from you! You destroyed my life, and I am going to destroy yours too!"

"Then do it! Go ahead! You've held this over my head for ten years so come on, baby, lets see what happens!" Veronica stepped closer and lowered her voice, "But you know what I think? I think you don't want people to know because you _hate_ being pitied. That's why you haven't told your boyfriend or your friends right? Because you're _scared_ of what they'll do and what they'll say? You said it yourself, Heather: everyone loves a charity case."

They stood nose to nose waiting for the other to back down, both women shaking from pure fury and adrenaline. All of a sudden Heather's hand shot up to harshly grip Veronica by her face and pull her in even closer. Even after the coffee, she could still smell the alcohol on Heather's breath. "You think I give a shit? I don't care what other people think, I don't care what you think, and I don't need _anything_ from _anyone!"_

It was said in a moment of unfiltered rage, but as soon as the sentence left Veronica's mouth she regret every word of it.

"You know what I think? You deserved _every bit_ of what happened _and I wish you actually died!"_

The air around them changed immediately and despite it being a rather warm April morning it was suddenly very cold. 

Heather released Veronica's face and took a step back, staggering as if she had been shot in the chest. The anger in her face was gone and in it's place was that stony look she had when Veronica first told her the truth. Shame filled every sinew and vein in Veronica's body as she tried to form an apology. "Heather I--"

"No. There's no taking that shit back." Heather continued backing away while shaking her head. Her voice cracked as she said, "And you want to know something? I wish I did too."

Veronica's breath caught in her chest and she tried to reach out to the other woman but she had already turned and started walking away. "Wait, Heather! I'm sorry!" The blonde turned a corner -- one that didn't lead back to their apartment building --and Veronica stopped to call out, "Where are you going?"

"Fuck off, Sawyer," Heather spat over her shoulder, "I need a drink."

Standing on the corner and looking between Heather and the way back home, Veronica felt herself being pulled in two directions. She really shouldn't just leave Heather alone while she was intoxicated and upset, she really needed to apologize and--

_No. I'm done apologizing. I may have crossed a line, but she crossed one first. I've already said I'm sorry over and over again, I won't say it again unless she decides it's her turn. Or actually, she wants nothing to do with me? Then I want nothing to do with her. She said it herself: I'm not her friend. Let her drink and pass out on the sidewalk. I wanted a world without Heather, and maybe now that all of our shit's been said and done I can finally have it. Fuck Heather Chandler._

Veronica watched Heather's figure fade off into the mist of the early morning, turning and walking in the opposite direction once she was out of sight. 

She arrived back to her apartment building a quarter after four in the morning, shuffling her way into the elevator and then into her apartment. Her bed welcomed her like the old friend that it was and Veronica didn't even bother to get out of her clothes as she crawled into it's embrace. She had maybe two hours of sleep before work, and God almighty did she hope it would be enough for her to not be exhausted.

By six-thirty she felt physically well-rested, but emotionally Veronica was a wreck and couldn't figure out why.

 _No, I know why._ She thought with remorse. _I just don't want to admit it. I didn't want Heather to die._

Veronica kept repeating that to herself all throughout the day, each time a different voice echoing behind it and with it the memory of J.D. giving her a reassuring smile while saying it.

_Heather Chandler is a bitch who deserves to die._


	4. Knowing Me, Knowing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Knowing me, knowing you (a-ha)  
>  There is nothing we can do  
> Knowing me, knowing you (a-ha)  
> We just have to face it  
> This time we're through  
> Breaking up is never easy, I know  
> But I have to go  
> Knowing me, knowing you  
> It's the best I can do_  
> 

By the middle of April Veronica had stopped having to stay late at work and somehow managed to be home by six o'clock instead of ten. It threw her off at first, having so much free time that wasn't on the weekend. In the beginning she would come home and look around her barren apartment and decide that she'd start trying to spruce it up. Her apartment looked lived in but it sure as hell didn't look like a home.

It wasn't until May that she gave up on that resolution entirely. She was watching a random talk show on her tiny television and sitting in her best piece of furniture: a recliner her dad gave her when she graduated from college. It was suppose to be the first of many comfortable places to relax but it reigned supreme compared to the old, worn down couch her college roommate didn't want. It was an ugly thing, and she knew if she spent a little time on it it could actually be pretty great. But between all the cigarette burns and the general grunge it couldn't shake it really seemed like a lost cause.

Lifting her head slightly to look around, Veronica bemoaned the now dead potted plant she had purchased on a whim and how it was doing the exact opposite of 'brightening' up the room. Maybe if she actually opened the blinds to the sole window in her apartment it would, but the last time she did that she had been heckled by stupid college kids. 

But it was the only idea she had, so she pulled herself up and meandered behind the furniture to the window. Veronica had to lean over her desk to open the blinds and cringed at the thick layer of dust that clung to her hand. It had definitely been over a month since she had actually sat at the desk and wrote something.

Writing had always been her outlet, whether it was venting to her diary like she did in high school or scribbling poems and short stories that would never see the light of day -- it brought her a certain catharsis that nothing else could. Veronica pulled the wooden chair to the desk out and plopped into it heavily. She sighed as she pulled her dark blue journal closer to herself and opened it to the page marked with a ribbon.

_'Dear diary, I fucked up again.'_

Understatement of the goddamn year.

It seemed the universe only wanted Veronica and Heather to come together after prolong periods of time. First it was ten years, then it was two weeks, and now it was a month and counting. It still made absolutely no sense how they hadn't bumped into each other. School wasn't out for summer yet and Veronica was leaving for and getting off work at reasonable times. Unless Heather lived like a vampire and only left in the dark of the night, Veronica couldn't wrap her head around it. Considering their last meeting took place at three in the morning it was entirely possible.

On the other hand, she couldn't stop running into Heather's stupid boyfriend.

They would typically share the elevator in the mornings and he'd make idle small-talk for the entire duration. Christian seemed... _nice,_ but Veronica couldn't shake the creeping discomfort that seemed to permeate from him. It felt like he was only speaking to her out of obligation since she was Heather's 'friend'. But even then, he barely spoke about his girlfriend -- the one-sided conversations seemed to revolve around himself. About how nice his job at some fancy bank was and how frustrating it was to get mud on his expensive suits and loafers. Or about his weekly baseball games with his gentlemen's club or about how cheap Porsches seemed to be getting.

That was one that Veronica couldn't keep her mouth shut on. "Heather had a Porsche." Christian stared down at her like she'd grown a second head and she only stared right back. "She didn't tell you? Cherry red, white leather interior, stupidly expensive? That car was practically her baby; she barely let anyone ride in it."

"She never mentioned it, no." He scoffed in disbelief, "I didn't know her family had that kind of money. They seemed so low-brow."

"Her family was stupid rich." Veronica found herself saying defensively, "Like could probably buy the entire county stupid rich."

_Why the fuck am I defending this?_

Christian only chuckled at her and gave her that pitiful smile she would get all the time from her boss. His voice was patronizing as he told her, "Please, do you know who I am? My father owns the biggest bank on the east coast. Probably the west coast too, now that I think about it. The Chandlers are practically living in squalor compared to my family."

"And yet here you are, in a shitty apartment taking the elevator with a," Veronica clutched her chest and gasped dramatically, "commoner!"

He only scowled at her before facing forward. She was relishing the fact that she had hit a nerve when he bitterly said, "I'm only here because my father cut me off until I prove I can handle the business on my own. And this shitty apartment wasn't even my idea, it was _hers._ " Veronica frowned as he practically sneered that last part out. "She wanted some place close to campus and she settled for the first thing she saw. Honestly, I don't even know what she thinks she's doing there anyways."

Veronica lifted a brow and carefully asked, "What do you mean?"

"Look, lets be honest here: Harvard Law is no place for a woman. _Law_ isn't a place for a woman. Women are too emotional and irrational, they can't make the tough choices needed for the job. It's just a fact! I'll humor her for now, but one of these days Heather has got to realize that she'd be better off quitting while she's ahead. You know her, you're her friend -- you know it's not right for her. Heather is too volatile, she's setting herself up for failure."

The urge to blow up in the bastard's face grew with each word, but Veronica knew she couldn't afford any assault charges. She only grit her teeth and stormed out of the elevator as soon as they arrived to the ground floor. The words stewed inside her mind all day and only served to enrage her more. After years of hearing the same shit said to her and about her, she couldn't help but take his comments personally. If there was one thing Veronica was tired of, it was men telling her what she could or couldn't do.

Part of her brain told her to knock on Heather's door and tell her what Christian had said, but that was enough to deflate her and turn her frustrations around. 

_I don't owe Heather shit -- so what if her boyfriend is a sexist pig? That's her problem, not mine. What do I care? If anything, they deserve each other!_

That night she stood in the kitchen and told Martha everything while toying with the phone cord. Well, everything that pertained to the situation but not anything that had happened ten years ago.

Veronica barely let her get a word in, verbally vomiting the meeting with Heather and then their fight in the middle of the night. She grimaced and felt that familiar sense of self-loathing come back as she admitted what she had said in her anger.

Martha got quiet after that and Veronica thought she had hung up for a moment. "Ronnie," Martha started slowly and in a very serious tone, "you need to apologize."

"Me? She should be apologizing to me for what she said about J.D.! I know what I said was bad but Martha, she's such a cruel bitch! She literally freaked out on me out of nowhere right after I thought we were okay! Heather's just so..." Veronica let her head hit the wall behind her in frustration at what she was saying, "volatile."

"Veronica, I know that Heather can be difficult--"

"That is _such_ an understatement."

"--but you have to realize that she's probably hurting a lot right now. What you said to her was very mean and I hope you didn't mean it. Do you remember how upset I was when I went back to school and kids were trying to make fun of me about what happened?"

"Of course I do. Punching that one dickhead in the face was so worth the detention."

"And see? You stood by me, you got in a fight for me! I needed a friend and you were there!" Martha gave a little sigh as she spoke, "Maybe Heather just needs a friend too. You two seemed close at the beginning of junior year, what happened to that?"

Veronica shifted from foot to foot as she recalled the trips to the mall or out to eat or to just drive aimlessly around Sherwood and talk. Most of the time it was an excursion with the whole group, but there were a few times when it was just Veronica and Heather. And she couldn't lie and say it was awful. When Heather was away from everyone else and it was just the two of them, she seemed almost like a normal teenage girl. She'd laugh with Veronica over stupid magazine articles and complain about curfews or boys. For all the times she would scoff at Veronica and her poor fashion and lack of make-up skills, she'd always help her and always insist on doing her nails or hair. 

They had gone to the mall without the other Heathers only once and it was maybe the best mall trip Veronica ever had. Heather pulled her from store to store to try on clothes but actually let Veronica lead her into the shops _she_ liked. They had spent over an hour in the record store trying to find the weirdest sounding band names and almost got kicked out of the toy store because Heather threw a rubber ball across the store on a dare. Heather even let Veronica drag her around Waldenbooks while pointing out the best and worst authors.

She knew somewhere, packed up in a box, she still had photos from the photo booth. They both ended up with a strip because Heather deemed the first ones less than perfect and demanded they retake them. The almost coy way that she asked to retake them made Veronica think that she just wanted a copy for herself.

"The bad just out-weighed the good." Veronica replied, "And how do you know that she won't immediately blown up on me again? Or that she'll even accept an apology -- wait no, I'm sorry Martha but I refuse to be the first one to apologize. I've had to be the bigger person every time, it's her turn. If she really needs a friend that bad, she can come off her high-horse and say it to my face."

Martha put on her most gentle voice as she pointed out, "Ronnie, you told her you wished she _died._ That's not okay. You at least need to apologize for that, then you're putting the ball in her court. You two need to talk if you're ever going to work this out and move on."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "I can move on without talking to her. I'd actually prefer if we never spoke again so I'm pretty okay with how this all turned out!"

"Is that why you're calling me and asking for advice?" Veronica knew she couldn't argue with that and only groaned in response. Martha chuckled at the sound and mentioned, "You're a good person, Veronica. You're smart and witty and caring and you have a way of bringing people together. I never thought I'd ever be friends with someone like Heather McNamara, but look at us now! We just spoke last week -- you should call her by the way, she was asking about you! But most of all, you love your friends so fiercely that you're willing to fight for them. Maybe Heather just needs someone willing to fight for her too."

The phrasing made Veronica think back to the day she watched J.D. beat the shit out of Kurt and Ram in the cafeteria, silently wishing that maybe he'd be willing to care enough about her to go to such extremes on her behalf. 

Technically, she did get what she wished for. He did care about her, but in the wrong way and enough to kill for her.

"So, will you at least tell her your sorry for what you said?" Martha asked.

Heaving a long sigh and knowing that she couldn't ignore her best friend's plea she replied, "I will. I'll try anyway."

"Good; I'm glad. I won't lie, I'm still upset at you for saying something like that. But I know you'll do the right thing. You always have."

That boundless optimism was something Veronica wished she possessed. She could promise to get down on her knees and vow her first born to Heather Chandler, but that didn't mean Heather would accept. If anything, Veronica half expected to be handed a cup of drain cleaner and told to chug it. But all of that could wait -- she just wanted to talk to her friend.

"So, how's Greg?" She asked with a small smile, "Is he still fixing up old houses?"

"Yes! Oh Veronica, he just finished with the most beautiful little cottage just outside of Austin! It's like a little mini-ranch house! There were goats and horses and chickens and geese, it was like a Laura Ingles Wilder book! I think I want to talk to him about buying it; it wasn't that expensive and it's just so perfect!"

Listening to Martha gush about her adventures around the country with her soft-spoken husband never failed to bring Veronica peace of mind. They both met Greg at a fourth of July celebration in their fourth year of college and Martha swore then and there that it was true love. He reminded Veronica of a lumberjack mixed with a teddy-bear: very intimidating at first glance but a huge softy once you got to know him. He ran his own business of renovating houses and promised Martha the world if she'd go with him. So far he was sticking to that promise as the two friends checked in once and month to discuss what new sights and new cities the couple had seen.

Veronica filled Martha in on the latest office drama at work and proudly told her about how she finally got a slight pay raise for working so much. Martha told Veronica that Heather McNamara recently got engaged to a man Veronica had never heard of but that Heather insisted that he was better than the previous one. She also gave Veronica Heather's new phone number and insisted she give her a call soon too. They spoke for over an hour, agreeing to finally hang up due to how sore their ears and shoulders were from holding the receiver. 

The immediate quiet of Veronica's apartment put a damper on her good mood. She loved Martha, but she hated that she was so far away. It wasn't often that Veronica wished to return to the days of their youth, but she longed for Martha to only be a few blocks away again. She missed movie nights, she missed going to the country club to swim, she missed the late night chats and the random urges to bake something just for fun.

Veronica knew she wasn't great with people. She had always either been too trusting too fast or too standoffish. It was especially hard to meet new people when she had such a strange and criminal history. She had had a couple of boyfriends but they all fell through because of her unwillingness to get too close. If they knew why, she knew they wouldn't blame her. It's not every day that you meet someone who's first boyfriend was so broken on the inside that he went on a killing spree.

But even missing Martha and wanting to see her again couldn't completely cure the ache in her chest. Veronica still had to lie to her best friend and it made her feel dirty. Lying to Martha felt like kicking a puppy, but the fear of what would happen should Martha find out the truth overpowered the guilt.

 _She almost figured it out as it was all happening. But then I fucked up and she nearly died because of me. Another person that I hurt added to my long list of regrets._ Sighing to herself, Veronica resigned herself to doing as Martha said and steeled herself to apologize to Heather. _Now if only I can find her._

Ever since she had assaulted the dryer for eating her money, Veronica always dreaded returning to the laundry room. She'd put off doing laundry for as long as possible and even then would only go during odd hours as to avoid anyone else. It couldn't be avoided anymore when she discovered she only had an grey old skirt and dark green sweater left clean.

Carrying the basket full of clothes on her hip and a book in hand, Veronica -- in said remaining skirt and sweater -- exited the elevator on the ground floor and made her way to the small room tucked away on the other side of the building's entrance. It was quiet so far, but Sundays at nine in the morning usually were. People were either at church or still sleeping in during this time. As she reached the door she froze mid-step and didn't breathe.

Heather stood at one of the dryers with her back to the door. Veronica noticed that she had her Walkman clipped to her hip and headphones on and crept in behind her, knowing it was a bad idea but somehow hoping she could do her laundry without getting noticed. It may be possible; the washers were on the opposite wall to the dryers. She snuck in and chucked her clothes in a machine as quietly as possible, lowering the lid gently and then retreating to one of the metal chairs in the corner. Veronica pulled her legs up into the chair and folded them under herself, cautiously keeping one eye on Heather as she gently opened her book.

She didn't actually read for a few minutes, only glancing from the pages to the blonde's back. There was something very off about her and Veronica couldn't figure it out until it dawned on her: Heather was in _jeans._ Jeans and a black cotton shirt that was tucked in.

_Wow, she actually has clothes that aren't obnoxiously classy -- and are those converse? This might be the first time that I'm the best dressed out of the two of us, rad._

Forgetting her book and watching her now, Veronica's eyebrows raised as she realized that Heather wasn't just going laundry. Veronica couldn't see exactly what it was, but she watched Heather hunch over the top of the dryer to write something down and then flip the pages of a thick book to scribble something else down. Doing school work in the laundry room brought back memories of her own time in college and Veronica felt herself relax a little. Between her music and work, Heather was definitely unaware of Veronica.

They stayed on their respective sides of the room and went about their business: Heather studying and Veronica reading. It was a strangely nice moment. Just the two of them coexisting in a room without any weird emotions getting in the way. Veronica was lost deep in her novel but was pulled away from it at a slight tapping noise. She looked up to see Heather nodding along to her music and tapping her foot against the tile. Veronica smirked at the sight but nearly swallowed her tongue when Heather looked over her shoulder. Freezing in place and praying, Veronica sighed in relief as Heather only glanced at the door across from both of them before going back to her work.

Ready to return to her book, Veronica paused again as Heather began humming to her music. Her smirk became a grin and Veronica tried to stifle her laughter as Heather's tapping and head-bobbing graduated into a full body sway. It was very quiet, but on occasion she would cease humming to breathe out the words to the song. It was another very random but normal moment that made her seem more like a regular person to Veronica. Over time she returned to leaning over the dryer and working and in turn Veronica went back to her book.

The peacefulness came to end as the washing machine stopped and emitted a loud alarm, both women jerking around to look at it. Heather looked from the washing machine to Veronica and nearly jumped out of her skin, recovering quickly and placing a hand to her chest as a glare formed on her face. Veronica ignored it and collected her clothes as slowly as possible. She dragged her feet in her walk to the dryers and cursed God. The machine furthest from Heather was infamous for only gently warming your clothes, the next one didn't work, and the one right beside her was the one that stole her money.

Veronica grit her teeth and went to stand beside Heather, crouching down and throwing her clothes in. She stood and fished around her pockets for her quarters, praying to the God that she just cursed that he would be merciful to her now. Her quarters disappeared into the machine and....nothing.

"Son of a bitch!" Veronica growled, pushing the coin return to no avail and then harshly kicking the dryer in the same dent she had already made.

She was about to kick it again but stopped as Heather crouched down to look at the coin return. Veronica was sure she was going to stand up and laugh at her misfortune, but Heather surprised her by sticking two fingers up into where it spits the coins out and narrowing her brows in concentration. After a moment of reaching for something, Heather removed her hand and jammed the return button harshly three times before smacking the dryer loudly. Veronica's mouth dropped open as quarters began shooting out of the return and skittering across the floor.

Heather said nothing, only stood and returned to her stuff to close her text book and start gathering her papers. Veronica watched as a pile of quarters began forming on the tile and couldn't help but think about all the coffee she could buy with them. Snapping out of it and watching the blonde collect her own clothes she mentioned lamely, "Thanks. This thing has eaten so much of my money that it's ridiculous." Heather didn't reply and Veronica added, "Do you think we should just leave these here or do you think we could get away with taking them? With how shitty the building owner is, I'm pretty okay with taking them." Veronica was given an apathetic look and Heather pointed to her headphones. "Right, sorry."

Rolling her eyes, Heather slid the headphones to her neck and turned back to her laundry basket to pick it up and moved it to the out of order machines. Moving her own wet clothes over to the now free dryer, the brunette scooped up a handful of quarters and sighed happily as the machine buzzed to life. Veronica side-eyed Heather carefully as she fold shirts and paired socks and couldn't help but snicker at the sight. At the glare she received Veronica shrugged, "Sorry, it's just weird seeing you so domestic. Or in a laundromat. I figured you were a dry clean only kind of person." Heather looked directly at Veronica as she reached into her basket and lifted a pair of very risqué panties. "Oh." Veronica felt her face flush and dropped her gaze, "Those...might be a little weird to take to the dry cleaner's."

Heather smirked, clearly pleased at the embarrassment and dropped the panties in favor of a large white button down. Veronica knew it belonged to Christian and glared as she remembered what he said. Her blood boiled all over again and the urge to make a snide comment almost won her over until she could hear Martha's voice echoing in her ears. Hoping to ease into a conversation before blurting out her apology she drummed her fingers on the dryer and said, "Soooo...what song were you listening to?" Heather didn't acknowledge the question and just kept folding so Veronica pushed a little further. "You were really getting into it there for a minute; it must have been a good one. Was it uh..." She racked her brain for ABBA songs and lamely offered, "... _'Dancing Queen'_?"

She still didn't get a verbal response, but Veronica relished in watching Heather's facing turning a bright pink. She had seen it go red from anger before but Heather didn't get embarrassed very often, so this was definitely something she was going to pat herself on the back for. Thinking of the color red took her down another train of thought so she randomly asked, "What ever happened to your Porsche?"

Heather gazed up at her with a cautiously curious look. "What?" She definitely sounded pissy, but it was a response so Veronica would take it.

"Your Porsche from high school. The red one with the white--"

"I know what you're talking about, but what are you _getting_ at?"

"Nothing, just curious where it is now." Veronica leaned against the dryer and hoped it looked more casual than awkward. "It came up in a conversation recently and it made me wonder."

Heather turned back to her laundry without another word, her folding now a little more than aggressive. "I don't know." She finally said tightly, "Last I saw it was collecting dust in my father's garage. Knowing him, he's probably sold it."

"You could always call and ask." Veronica mentioned. "You'd know for sure then."

"Why? So then I can come running to you and tell you all about my stupid car? The hell do you care?" Heather snapped.

They returned to the awkward silence and Veronica struggled to find a new talking point. She considered asking about the music again and tried to think of more song titles to try and seem more knowledgeable but came up with nothing. ABBA had never been her thing. She had definitely heard them before; Martha had a few of their vinyl's. Veronica never really cared for them; they weren't her style. The music always seemed to happy and peppy to her, which made it especially weird to think that Heather Chandler liked them.

She was pulled from her thoughts as Heather let out a sigh of longing and said, "I miss it. I loved that car. It was practically my second home. I loved to just go and drive around for hours and hours, hit the back roads and lay on the gas. Take corners and hills a little too fast to get that feeling of getting pushed into the seat."

"My dad used to do that to me and my mom," Veronica smiled at the memory, "he'd always say 'are we in a car or a rollercoaster?' right before doing it. But that was a station wagon, I'm sure a Porsche is way better."

"If you think that's fun, you should try it on a motorcycle."

Now that was unexpected. Veronica stood a little straighter and asked in disbelief, "You've been on a motorcycle?"

Heather stopped folding and chuckled. "Yeah. My uncle used to take me out when I was little. It was amazing. We definitely broke a few traffic laws, but it was so worth it."

Veronica felt a sad smile form on her lips. "I remember riding around on J.D.'s motorcycle. It was terrifying at first and he'd call me a chicken for not wanting to go over forty miles an hour. But I think liked it enough to want to do it again. It felt like flying. "

At the mention of J.D., Heather's smile faded and she looked at her laundry again. Taking a few cautious steps closer, Veronica wished her heart wasn't trying to leap into her throat. "Hey, uhm...I just wanted to say that--"

"Stop."

Veronica obeyed and ceased all movement, wincing to herself and pondering why she let Martha convince her this would work. Heather clenched her fists and refused to look at her, nostrils flaring in anger. "Why do you keep doing this?" Her voice was as taut as she was, clearly about to fizz over into vicious. Veronica hesitated, unsure what to say next. Heather clenched and unclenched her jaw for a moment then uttered, "Why do you pretend to be my friend but then turn around and remind me of all that crap?"

Remembering what Martha had said, Veronica quickly said, "Heather we used to be close. I don't know what happened but--"

"You don't know what _happened?_ " Heather scoffed and looked at her with a sneer, "Do you have a brain tumor? You _ruined_ my life! And then you just come traipsing in asking for forgiveness? Why don't you go to church if you want to confess your sins to someone, because I don't give a shit! Or go put a lily on Ted Bundy's grave and cry to him!"

Feeling that searing frustration returning, Veronica balled her own fists and hissed back. "I am _trying_ to do the right thing! I am _trying_ to be nice to you and forget about all of the fucked up shit you've said and done! You're no saint either! Do you ever think about how many kids you tortured for fun? How you not only let one of your 'best friends' struggle with an eating disorder but openly _mocked_ her for it? How you'd throw tantrums when you didn't get your way and project it on everyone else? I'm not pretending to be your friend because I don't want to be your friend! Not unless I want to be as miserable as Heather McNamara was and a complete bitch like Duke was! You did that to them all by yourself! So what's your excuse for that, huh?"

"Anything is better than saying that I did it all because I lost my virginity to a fucking lunatic! I hope the sex was worth it, Veronica, because he seemed to think that it really _blew!_ " 

They were nearly chest to chest again and practically whisper-screaming in each other's face. Veronica kept trying to remind herself what she had said about not hitting Christian for fear of battery charges, but the lord was tempting her to throw a punch a Heather's big mouth. Thinking rapidly for something that would really sting she blurted out, "Oh yeah? Well at least my boyfriend didn't think I was an incapable, emotional wreck! At least we didn't get into scream fights every night! At least he actually _cared_ about me! And _supported_ me! At least he didn't think I was some cheap whore and used me for my money!"

If it hurt, Heather didn't show it. She only got close enough to be nose to nose with Veronica and said flatly, "At least my boyfriend's alive."

Veronica was shaking at this point but couldn't bring herself to move. No, if she was going to beat the shit out of Heather Chandler, she'd let her take the first swing. And for a moment it seemed like she would. But she didn't, she only took a step back and snatched her laundry basket, leaving briskly while saying over her shoulder, "Come near me again and I'll break your fucking face, Sawyer."

When she was gone and Veronica released all of the animosity with a long exhale, she turned and looked down at the pile of quarters still on the floor. It wasn't enough to make her rich, but it looked to be enough to buy herself a small bottle of gin. 

_Maybe the one thing she's actually good for. Cheers to you, Heather, the most unredeemable bitch to ever live._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realized i haven't actually put any notes yet, whoops! annnyway, i hope if you're reading this that yer havin' a great day/night/time! i'm also sure people are wondering: "but dude, why abba?" and my answer is "dude, why not?" 
> 
> but seriously, i love abba so much and their music is just so palatable to most situations. my spotify is a mess of a lot of different artists and albums (because im a dweeb that can go from weird little musicals from the 1970s to lady gaga) and i went from the heathers soundtrack to abba and the first song that played was 'Head Over Heels' and i just thought "huh, this is such a heather chandler song" and now here we are!! a great story, i know ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_ and i know it's a lot of "i hate you" back and forth rn, but i promise we will get to the happy times of featuring chansaw. i made the tag enemies to friends to lovers for a reason and im tryin to make this as slow burn as possible. ive got the major story beats down but there is definitely some wiggle room for some other fun (or angsty) moments. welp, if you've read this far...cool beans. sorry for the ramble, and sorry for any errors or mistakes! i am a one guy show and i tend to miss (most) mistakes! thanks fer readin and fer the kudos, you're all swell and it warms my heart! ☆ ～('▽^人)


	5. On and On and On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I was at a party  
>  And this feller said to me  
> Something bad is happening  
> I'm sure you do agree  
> People care for nothing  
> No respect for human rights  
> Evil times are coming  
> We are in for darker nights_  
> 

Veronica stomped her way into her apartment building; her anger grew with every soggy step she took. _Another shitty day,_ She growled to herself, _and yet so different from all the others._

She had arrived at work to discover that her boss, in his ever gracious and thoughtfulness, had decided to give her desk to their newest employee. The new guy seemed just as cocky as her other coworkers and offered a snide 'apology' for taking her desk. All of her personal belongings had been carelessly thrown into an empty printer paper box and pushed to a shitty desk at the back corner of the office -- the one everyone hated. The desk had a bum leg and would wobble as you tried to write on it, it was right beside a vent which meant it was freezing in the summer and boiling in the winter, and -- worst of all -- the computer there seemed ten times slower than the rest. Dial-up was shitty enough as it were, the computer being slower than molasses just exacerbated it. 

But she could get over all that. What she couldn't get over was the fact that the new guy at her desk had neglected to give her back the expensive fountain pen her parents gave her for her last birthday. When confronted he played innocent and insisted he hadn't seen it, all the while twirling it in his hand with a purposeful flourish. Veronica knew he was trying to bait her into an argument or a fight. It was something most men had done to her before in an attempt to get her even shittier treatment or worse: fired.

Losing control was something Veronica _loathed,_ and this just about took the damn cake.

The fact that she had to grit her teeth and walk away from the smug bastard... _God I wish I slapped the smirk off his face._ And it had suddenly started raining just as she was leaving work and she forgot her umbrella _again._ And the coffee she bought herself to try and salvage her mood had been in her hands for a grand total of thirty seconds before some asshole shoulder-checked her hard enough for it to splash all over her front. 

Her only saving grace now was the pack of smokes she purchased after losing her coffee. Veronica called the elevator and debated if she should light one up right then and there. The landlord still hadn't found out about the missing quarters from the laundry room, so surely he wouldn't find out about her smoking in the elevator.

Those dreams were dashed when a mother and young boy came to wait with her. It was truly a blessing in disguise and she knew it. Maybe it was the universe's message to her to stop smoking. Martha was always preaching to her the dangers and even her mom had commented once on how her clothes smelled of smoke and that she should at least 'take it outside'. While on the ride up to her floor, Veronica decided that she'd stop tomorrow for Martha and take it to the fire escape for mother.

Veronica turned the opposite way to her apartment and already had a cigarette in her mouth as she approached the door to the fire escape. She noticed that it was already propped open and paused to peak outside to see who her company would be.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ." She groaned to herself. _Of course Heather would be out here. This day just keeps getting better and fuckin' better._

For a moment she paused and thought to turn around and go back to her apartment. But it was only a brief moment before she realized that she was truly done giving a shit and just wanted to smoke. She had done enough to try and accommodate Heather and her bullshit, it was Heather's turn to accommodate _her_ bullshit. It had only been a few days since their last spat so sure, there was still a lot Veronica regret yet still wanted to snark about. But after her shitty day, she just wanted to come out of this without losing or taking an eye.

Veronica nudged the door open with her foot while lighting the cigarette and stepped out to put herself in the opposite corner of the fire escape from the blonde. She got a few good puffs in and was just beginning to think that maybe she could relax a little when Heather finally decided to acknowledge her presence. 

"Didn't I tell you to stay the fuck away from me?" She scoffed. Veronica lazily turned to her direction and hoped her expression was as blasé as she wanted it to be. Heather, on the other hand, looked absolutely _livid._ She was practically gnawing her own smoke between gritted teeth and wore a face full of red-hot anger. If she cared about her expensive looking coat and skirt or hair and make-up getting wet, she sure as hell didn't show it.

Veronica replied with a shrug. "I'm just here to smoke. I couldn't care less about you being here. But please, by all means, shout at me and give me all the usual insults. I doubt you could possibly ruin my day anymore than it already has been."

There was a quiet then, nothing but the soft sounds of rain falling around them. It was beginning to pick up again and Veronica pulled her jacket closer to herself like it'd save her from becoming more drenched then she already was. The rain was coming down in a torrent and Veronica leaned back from the railing, slipping momentarily on the wet metal but catching herself. She glanced over to see Heather finish one cigarette only to pull out another and struggle for a moment to light it in the rain. Once she succeeded, she leaned against the backwall and furiously tapped her long nails against the fire escape railing.

Veronica watched her in mild interest and assumed she was blowing off steam from school before noticing two things. 

One, Heather's hands were shaking. It was truly only noticeable when she reached up to bring the cigarette away from her lips.

Two, peaking from just beneath her coat sleeve was a bruise around her wrist. Again only noticeable when she brought her hand up. The fabric slid a little further for Veronica to note that the bruise extended further than just the wrist and she wondered how far down it went.

"The fuck are you looking at?" Heather barked suddenly, shocking Veronica out of her thoughts.

"A hot mess." Veronica answered with a deadpan expression. Heather bristled at the response but said nothing so Veronica decided to push further. "You just love to seem so perfect, don't you? I guess I should feel honoured to get to see you like this and live. I wonder how many times you hid away in high school to do this shit. Although, I doubt back then you had the withdrawal shakes as bad as you have them now. What's wrong, Heather? Haven't had a drink in a while?"

It was yet another thing she hated herself for saying, especially given that she had only just called Heather out on making light of Heather Duke's own problems. But the thought of goading Heather into a fight seemed strangely cathartic and Veronica just wanted to feel some semblance of control after losing it over and over again today.

But it was infuriating that Heather didn't say a word back. She just let her face pinch into a tighter scowl and tapped her nails faster and harder.

Veronica paused to collect her thoughts before asking casually, "So, how's that _living_ boyfriend? Ya'know, the one that uses you and is probably sleeping around? I mean that's only an assumption but considering I've caught him at the payphone in the laundry room more than a few times...I'd say it's not looking too good."

Nothing. The tapping increased.

"Ooh or how about that fight the other night? Sounded like a pretty nasty one, what with all the yelling and screaming. Although I'll be the first one to admit that it gets old after a while. I can't imagine how you two can just keeping going and going over and over with the same old routine. Unless he's not just yelling -- again, only an assumption! But that bruise, _tsk,_ it's always a sad sight to see."

The rain got louder. The tapping continued.

Smirking now and hoping to feel a little more drunk off of hitting nerves, Veronica leaned closer to the blonde. "Aw, but hey. Like I said, it's just like old times! You hide away wishing you had a drink and try not to think about a man screaming at you! What's the old saying? Something about finding a husband who reminds you of your dad? Huh, well I'll be damned Heather, I guess you've found the _perfect_ match!"

The tapping stopped.

Veronica got a little closer and opened her mouth to keep going but found herself grabbed by the throat and shoved backwards. Her shoes slid against the slick grate under them and she cried out when her lower back hit the railing hard, bending her backwards over the edge. She had dropped her cigarette somewhere along the way and was trying to use both hands to get the hand holding her by the neck off. Tears leapt at the sudden bite of nails in her skin and Veronica nearly lifted herself off the railing when a second hand came to wrap around her throat and forced her to bend further over it. Cracking open her eyes against the rain, she stared up in shock and fear at the woman practically holding her over the edge of the fire escape.

Heather looked unhinged. Her lips were curled into a snarl and her jaw was clenched so tightly a vein in her neck appeared. Her eyes were wide and crazed, staring directly into Veronica's, unblinking.

It looked familiar, in a horrifying and unnerving way.

Heather stepped closer and tightened her grip, making the brunette gasp for air.

"I could kill you right now." Heather told her through gritted teeth and a sickening little smile. "I could push you over and let you fall. No one would hear you scream over the rain. I could tell people that you jumped. I could tell them that I tried to stop you." Her lips twitched back into a frown and she leaned right in Veronica's face to say, "That wouldn't make me much different from you, would it? But I would be. Because I would make sure you were actually _dead._ "

Veronica struggled to pry the hands off of her and get upright again, but Heather was much stronger and not at all willing to let go. "He-Heath..." Veronica choked out between attempts to heave in air, "...ple...plea..."

"Just like old times, right Veronica? Except this time Jesse James isn't around to save you! But would he? Because from what you told me he thought you'd be better off dead! He tried to kill you too, right? That's too bad. He won't get to see me do what he _couldn't!_ " Heather squeezed until Veronica's vision went black, the sensation only happening for a second but enough to set in her last remaining fight-or-flight attempt. She tried to kick at Heather's legs but her feet were nearly off the ground at this point and moving them too much teetered her closer to falling three stories onto concrete. 

"You told me I should be proud of myself for getting out of that hellhole! What an absolute crock of _bullshit_ when you put me there in the first place! I could have been _happy!_ I could have been _fine!_ I could have gotten to still be a _kid!_ I could have been _normal!_ " Heather's voice shook slightly and Veronica felt a rush of guilt settle in beside the fear. "But you took all of that away from me! And all for some fucking psychopath that you still protect! _That's not fair!_ It's not fair that he gets treated like a fucking victim and I get treated like a monster! I know I'm awful! I don't need you to remind me every _fucking_ day about all the reasons _I hate myself!_ "

The grip on her lessened slightly and Veronica could breathe a little. She gulped in air and hoarsely called, "Heather...I'm sorry..."

Heather's face kept twisting between anger and grief, her voice breaking with nearly every word now. "Shut the fuck up! I don't want your apologies! I don't want your fucking pity! I don't want _anything_ to do with you! If there's anything you should be sorry about it's for showing up here!" Her head bent away in an attempt to try and hide the pain in her eyes. "I want to kill you so damn bad. I want you to hurt like I did. I want you to understand _everything_ I went through, then maybe you'd get it through your thick fucking skull how terrible Jason Dean was! How lucky he was to have gotten out of that bullshit without so much as a slap on the wrist! Have you ever realized that he left all of this crap on you? He caused all of it, fucked off, and lets you take all the blame for it? And you tell me that it's because he was _damaged?_ That he had mommy issues so he gets to commit murder without consequences?"

The hands left her neck completely and Heather curled them into tight, shaking fists. Veronica carefully touched her throbbing throat and winced. It was definitely going to look bad later. Taking in a shaky breath, Veronica tried to speak but found her voice strained and catching. "I-I thou-ught...I c-cou....fix'm..."

She lifted her gaze just in time to see the fist coming at her face. She knew she could drop to her knees and avoid it, but it felt both long-overdue and deserved so she braced instead. Tensing didn't help lessen the blow. Her head rocked back from the force and she gripped the railing to try and keep herself up. Veronica's legs were shaking and she wasn't sure if she was feeling faint from being choked or from the sucker punch to the left eye, but she couldn't stand anymore and slid down to the wet grate pathetically.

" _Fix him?!_ " Heather's voice was shrill. If she were angry before, she was furious now. "Why the fuck would you think you could fix him after he tried to kill three people?! You thought you could fix the insane son of a bitch that wanted to blow up a _fucking school?!_ Are you fucking brain dead?! You put up with all of that bullshit for what -- so you could try and preach how 'everyone can sing kumbaya and we can all ride off into the sunset'? _Grow up, Veronica!_ And open your Goddamn eyes! No one in this fucking world is good; there is no such thing as a good person!"

"You say people deserve second chances -- but why? Because you think that everyone can be good and nice? Even someone as demented as Jason Dean?" Heather shook her head with a quiet scoff, "Explain to me then how you think the guy that fed me poison in a cup still gets your magic 'second chance' bullshit but _I_ don't. Why? Because I'm not _nice_ to you? Because I don't _lie_ about the awful shit I've done? Because I'm _right?_ Jason Dean is dead and gone, Veronica! You can tell me that he killed himself in some grand romantic gesture to make up for all the bullshit he did, but you're not seeing it for what is really was! He took the easy way out and left you with all his fucked up bullshit! He didn't give a _shit_ about you, so why do you still give a shit about him? Make me understand, because for someone so smart you are acting like a complete dumbass and _I'm sick of it!_ "

The words Veronica wanted to say were stuck inside her throat, but not from being strangled there. She had thought about this all too much, and it never stopped hurting to think that even in the end she didn't make even the slightest difference. Veronica knew J.D. used her. She knew he betrayed her and manipulated her and left her alone with all of the guilt and blame. It was just easier to tell herself that he did it because he actually loved her and not because he found one last way to use her. It was easier to think that there was a shred of goodness and hope inside Jason Dean, that she had showed him how to care about people and fall in love with life again. 

But Heather was right. Veronica just didn't want to admit it and tried over and over again to convince herself to believe a lie. A lie that J.D. fed her over and over again: that none of it was his fault. It was society's fault, it was his father's fault, it was all an accident, it would never happen again, he would be better than the kid with a gun and a bomb.

He never would be better than a kid with a gun and a bomb when he died clinging tightly to both. 

Veronica shook from more than the chill of the rain and brought her hands up to her face. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, gasping at the pain in her left eye, and willed herself not to break down just yet. The memories knotted her stomach and seized her chest, unexplainable shame and grief filling every sinew, nerve, and bone. They were thoughts and emotions she had spent so long trying to forget and they were made excruciating because of it. Coupled with the boiling over frustration at always fighting, Veronica didn't know if she wanted to let Heather throw her over the fire escape or cry at her feet.

Losing control was something Veronica loathed with all of her being, but only because she hasn't felt in control for ten years.

Haunted by grief, haunted by ghosts, haunted by a dead boy who still tried to whisper in her ear and convince her to listen to him. To give him control and freeze her brain. To believe that he cared. That he changed.

Trying to find her voice and calm herself enough to not begin hyperventilating, Veronica lowered her hands from her face and couldn't look any higher than Heather's shoes. "I..." She tried, a pathetic sob following immediately after.

Heather's shoes turned towards the door and Veronica heard it creak open. "Save it." Heather muttered, "I don't care anymore. You tried to kill me, I tried to kill you -- we're even. So just leave me alone. Please." Veronica didn't miss how defeated she sounded and wished she had enough fortitude to stop the other woman from leaving and apologize. But she felt just as defeated and like she'd break in two if she tried to say anything else, so Veronica watched through her tears as Heather stepped back inside and shut her out.

Veronica couldn't quite remember the walk to the café, nor could she remember at all how she got into the back booth by the kitchen door. She didn't know when the steaming mug of coffee was put in her hands or when an omelet was set before her. She didn't know when Shannon had stopped pestering her about the purpling bruise around her eye or why she was crying. She didn't know anything at the moment.

She just felt...numb. Like everything around her was muted and grey. Everything felt cold and empty, so she clung to the hot coffee and let the ceramic mug burn her palms just to remind herself that she was here.

Not on the fire escape, not on the football field, not in the boiler room, not in the woods, not in the bedroom, not in the 7/11. 

_Here. I'm here. I'm not there. He's not here. He's not here. He's. Not. Here._

Repeating it to herself did little to sooth her nerves and only seemed to heighten the feeling that she was being watched. Hunted, was a better word, she felt like she was being hunted. Cold eyes were watching her and waiting for her to show even the slightest bit of vulnerability, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

_He's watching._

Every little movement from the corner of her eyes had her flinching and waiting to hear the cocking of a gun or the quiet beeps of a bomb. The sounds of plates being scraped and glasses clinking could only remind her of choking and the shattering of a glass table. A pot or pan hit something loudly and her breathing hitched at the phantom feeling of a gun firing in her hand.

The heat of the mug was waning and Veronica briefly considered sticking her fingers into the coffee to keep herself grounded but stopped at the arrival of someone to her booth.

Javier gave her a half-smile and reached over to place his hands around her own. "You are frigid." He mentioned while leaning across the table, "And you're upset." He thought for a moment then added, "Tell me who made you cry and I can return the favor."

Veronica lifted her gaze to his eyes and was stricken with an unexplainable fear. His eyes were dark and serious, devoid of the warmth from before and filled with nothing but malice and rage. There was still a hint of the playful and charming guy from before, but Veronica's stomach curdled at the thought of falling for his manipulation again. J.D.'s grip on her hands tightened and she--

"I'm only joking of course." Javier said with slight concern. His voice pulled Veronica back out of her mind and she visibly relaxed. J.D.'s eyes were cold and uncaring, but Javier's were full of kindness and life. "Sorry, I'm not very good at these things. But I'd like to give it a try if you're willing to share a little. I've got some great ears, they even stick out a little." Even his voice, hushed but still strong, was more reassuring and honest. He was sincere, he was compassionate, he was easy to see through and made her want to pour her heart out.

The tiny voice inside her tried to remind her of what happened the last time she threw all of her trust into someone, but it was barely a peep compared to the yearn for company. Veronica released the mug by degrees and turned her hands around to curl fists into the man's hands to let him cover and squeeze warmth into them.

Her mouth was dry and she couldn't rid herself of the chest-rattling hiccups, but Veronica opened her mouth and was ready to confess to everything.

"I'm not a good person." Is what came out instead.

"Poppycock." Veronica made a face at the word and Javier grinned, "What? It's a fun word. But back to you: why do you say that? Did something happen?"

Veronica nibbled on her bottom lip as the gears in her brain tried to turn enough to explain without actually explaining. "Heather and I got into a fight." She settled on. "We actually have every time we've seen each other"

Javier pointed a finger up and asked, "Did she do that? Your eye?" Veronica pulled a hand away from him to place it over the offending area in a moment of self-consciousness. She had been smart enough to grab a scarf to hide her neck at least, but a black eye was much harder to cover up.

"No," Veronica lied while looking straight at him, "I fell and hit my coffee table."

The dark-haired man only raised his eyebrows in response, clearly not believing her but also not willing to press the matter. He stepped back to what Veronica had said and told her, "Heather fights with everyone. She's very..."

"Volatile?" She was really starting to hate that word.

"Passionate. She has a very strict way of seeing things and is very passionate about telling others about it. I figured she was always like that; was she different in high school?"

Veronica couldn't help but laugh. "God no. She hasn't changed a bit."

"And you two used to be best friends, right? So what's happened now to change that?"

Whatever peace of mind she had regained was draining away again and Veronica could feel herself shrinking back into that dark place. That cunning voice in the back of her head whispered to her more lies to say, ways to make this conversation easy without giving too much of herself away.

But she refused to let it control her, not now. Maybe not ever again.

"There was a boy in high school," Veronica started slow, still careful of what she should and shouldn't say, "and he and Heather...didn't really get along. She hated him and he hated her too. But I liked him and he liked me, so we got together. He _really_ didn't like Heather, and he decided to do something really bad to her. I didn't know what he was doing. I just thought it was a harmless prank, but it ended up ruining..." _Her entire life._ "...our friendship."

"And if there's anything I've learned about Heather it's that she can hold a grudge." Javier noted with furrowed brows. "What was the prank, if you don't mind me asking."

Veronica's eyes drifted back to her mug of coffee and a shiver crept from the top of her head and down her spine. "It's not something I feel like I should tell you. It's...private. If anyone should tell you it should be Heather. Just know that it was really bad and I completely understand why she's so angry. I just wish she'd let me apologize for it and know that I mean it."

"And what about this boy, do you think she'd be more willing to accept if she got an apology from him too?"

What used to bring a heavy sadness to her heart now seemed to comfort the fear of eyes on her back as she said, "He's dead. He died when we were in high school."

Javier didn't hide his wince and he gave Veronica's hands a squeeze. "I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been hard for you."

"It was but..." Veronica thought of J.D.'s boyish grin and carefree laughter for just a moment before it was replaced with uncaring stares and lethal smirks. "...but I'm starting to realize that he was even worse than me. I always knew deep down that he wasn't good. I wanted him to be so badly but he just never was. I feel so stupid for not facing that until now." She sighed and pulled a hand away to wipe at her eyes, mindful this time of the bruised one. "I'm not a good person, but I at least want to try to be. I want to move on and forget about everything, but Heather won't talk to me and I don't think I can move on without her."

Javier reached a little to drum his fingers on Veronica's wrist, focusing on that instead of her face. He lost himself in deep thought briefly. Gradually, Javier pulled himself back but still didn't look at Veronica. "Heather is...complicated. I've tried for years to get her to open up, and on occasions she has. But it's a blink and you'll miss it thing. She always stops herself and then shuts down again. I'm not the closest person to her, but to me it feels like she's afraid to say too much. I want to tell you that she'll come around, but I think we both know there's a fat chance of that happening. My best advice is to tell her now. Don't give her time to stew in all the anger and put up her guard.

Veronica freed one of her hands while he spoke to sip her coffee. It had gone cold at this point, now gross and unpleasant. "I appreciate the advice but that does _not_ sound like a good idea." She said with a grimace and a gentle nudge to get the offending drink away.

"Well it's all I can give I'm afraid." Javier let go of her hands to lean back and sigh dramatically, "If this were one of my _many_ short-comings with a lover, I'd shower her with gifts and love-notes! But alas, I know not what she enjoys! And she's thrown all of my previous love-notes in the trash!"

"She likes corn nuts." Veronica supplied flatly, "And shopping. And being a mythic bitch." She narrowed her brows and muttered more to herself than to Javier, "And she likes ABBA. Maybe I could try and butter her up with one of their CDs -- no wait, the Walkman, I'd have to find a cassette. But I don't know which ones she has already and she'll be even more pissed if I give her something she already has..."

Javier snapped his fingers in front of her face and Veronica jerked out of her rambling. He grinned and asked with a chuckle, "Do you do that often? Get lost in your mind and talk to yourself?" She flushed in response but he smoothed it by saying, "They say that's a sign of a great mind, you know. And if there's one thing I like it's an intelligent woman."

Veronica awkwardly smiled back at him and fidgeted from embarrassment. "Wow uh, thank you? Thank you. I-I don't know about all of that but I appreciate the compliment--"

"Would you have dinner with me sometime?" He asked suddenly. Her brain tried to process the question but for being so great it didn't want to think of anything other than _'holy shit'._ Javier then motioned to the table, "Maybe not here. There is a nice place a few blocks away and I know I can get us reservations for next Friday night." Veronica still didn't react and he leaned forward a little to stage-whisper. "Have I misread the situation and just made a fool of myself?"

"No!" She practically yelled, startling them both. " _No,_ " She repeated quieter, "no no no no no. I'm just...really caught off guard. Because you're so..." She gestured up and down at him and struggled to find the right word. Veronica wanted to give herself another black eye when she settled on, "...European."

Javier grinned again and couldn't help but laugh, agreeing with a nod. "I suppose I am. Is that a problem for you?"

Veronica snorted and shook her head, "Uh no, not at all -- that's the _opposite_ of a problem for me." Stopping herself from putting her foot any further into her mouth she smoothed herself out and replied, "I think dinner would be nice. We haven't gotten to talk literature yet."

"We have not, but now I have even more to look forward to." Javier slid out of the booth and collected her plate and mug with a mix of elegance and swagger. "I'll pick you up around eight?"

Veronica dumbly nodded and watched as he gave her a nod of confirmation, a smile and a wink, and then disappeared into the kitchen. 

She was on cloud nine the entire walk home. She couldn't stop smiling and would only dissolve into giggles when she'd try to stop herself. Veronica felt so full of renewed energy and happiness, practically skipping down the sidewalk. It wasn't until she was in the elevator going up that she realized she left without paying her bill. 

The good feeling fizzled out and she groaned loudly at the thought of having to go all the way back to avoid Shannon's wrath about dining and dashing.

 _Do I even have money right now? Payday isn't until Thursday and I can't even remember the last time I bought something other than Kraft macaroni._ Veronica reached for her wallet and pulled it open, watching as a little piece of folded notebook paper gently landed on the elevator floor. She reached for it, not quite recalling what it was but when she did it hit her like a freight train.Or a punch to the face.

It was the phone number Martha had given her. _Heather McNamara._

_Maybe I can still control something after all._

Veronica slipped through the elevator doors before they were finished opening and jogged down the hall and around the corner. She moved past the door to her apartment and stood in front of Heather's, taking a deep breath and then knocking.

It opened wide -- it hadn't been chain locked -- and Heather immediately glared and folded her arms across her chest. For being in a baggy t-shirt and sweat pants, she still looked fierce and intimidating. 

Her mouth opened but Veronica held up a finger and cut her off, "I know you don't want me here but give me just sixty seconds and then you'll never see me again." Heather looked her up and down and cocked a brow, her own way of agreeing. Veronica squared her shoulders and made sure to look her in the face as she spoke.

"First, I am so sorry. I'll never stop being sorry. I know I ruined your life, I know I fucked everything up, I know I can't fix it, but not a day goes by that I don't think about that and hate myself for it. Second, you were right." 

At this Heather raised her brows in surprise and interest.

"You were right about J.D., and you're right about me defending him. I shouldn't be, but when I think of him I just see another thing that I fucked up and can't fix. You were right about him...manipulating me. I just thought it would be easier to deal with if I pretended that he wasn't as evil as he was. He did leave me with all the blame and the guilt and I hate him for it. I'm ready to say that now. I hate him. I wish we never met. H-he ruined my life too."

Veronica reached out and presented the folded piece of paper. "Third, I know there's nothing I can do to help you, but I know someone who can. This is Heather McNamara's phone number."

Heather seemed to forget about being angry and stared at the paper in shock. She gingerly reached out and plucked it from Veronica's hand, carefully opening it to stare at the number.

"We've kept in touch over the years. She's doing good, she lives in Atlanta, she's engaged, and she misses you. I didn't tell her that we've met, but I swear that you are all she wants to talk about. You're always on her mind and she deserves to know that you're okay." Veronica took a step back and gave her a quick half-smile, "Someone smarter than me once said that everyone needs a friend, and that includes you too."

She released the air she had been holding and continued, "You don't want to see me again...so you won't. We might run into each other going in and out but I won't talk to you or even look at you. We can go back to just being faceless neighbors."

Blue-grey eyes returned to brown and Veronica hoped her smile looked as genuine as it felt.

"I'm glad you're okay, and I'm glad I got to see you. Thank you for the kick in the ass -- well, punch to the face I guess -- it was definitely a well needed reality check. But childish or not I do still believe that there are good people in the world. I know I'm not one of them and neither are you, but I hope one day we can be. I hope we can change. I think you can; I believe in you. Good-bye, Heather."

As Veronica turned away she could almost swear she saw a slight quiver on Heather's lips but she pushed the wondering aside and marched to her apartment.

Inside, she let herself depress and collapse into her recliner. Her body was aching and sore and her mind was a jumbled mess. And for whatever reason, her heart hurt. Maybe from the emotional whiplash of the day, maybe from regrets about not saying certain things before leaving.

But for the first time in a very long time, she felt in control. Regrets, mistakes -- they were all _her_ choice and no one else's.

Veronica rose from the chair and moved to sit at her desk. Her journal opened and she turned to a blank page while reaching for a pen.

_'Dear Diary, I don't know if I did the right thing. I don't know if I've made a difference. I don't know if I've helped. It feels like I'm stuck in an endless loop of misery and bad choices. But I'm strangely okay with that. Maybe it's because I've wallowed in it for so long_

_I still don't think I'm a good person. I hope I can be. I hope Heather can be too. She's definitely proved that there's more to her than meets the eye. And I meant what I said. I do believe in her. I just hope she believes in me too.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_
> 
> how bout them apples? this chapter was a nightmare for me to write. the whole fire escape encounter was one of the first things i thought of but it went in so many different directions and ended in so many different ways. buuuut i think im pretty happy with where it ended up! hopefully you think so too! i can also say that this marks the climax of their constant fighting, so look forward to (slightly) fewer fights! okay, im off to sit and stare at a wall. wear your seatbelt and have a good morning/day/night, i love you! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
> 
> (edit: I also forgot to mention that I've decided to change how I'm going about chapter titles! I already know songs will be reused (spoilers) but instead of splitting their titles/altering them slightly I've thought of a better way! This really only applies to chapters 2 and 4 atm, but just so's ya know why they're changing! (also side fun fact: I used 'On and On and On' for this chapter because the chorus makes me want to either go hard or go apeshit and I don't really know why but it helped get the energy to write the fire escape scene. woooohooo fun facts!!! okay bye again ily be safe))


	6. Head Over Heels (reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Head over heels  
>  Breaking her way  
> Pushing through unknown jungles every day  
> She's a girl with a taste for the world  
> Head over heels  
> Setting the pace  
> Running the gauntlet in a whirl of lace  
> She's extreme, if you know what I mean  
> And she goes  
> Head over heels_  
> 

The new routine Veronica found herself in the following week was one she had zero complaints about.

She'd leave for work early enough to stop by a little hole in the wall bakery where she could get breakfast, lunch, and a coffee for five bucks. She discovered it across the street to the apartment building one morning while trying to kill some time and fell in love with it immediately. It was run by a single old man with glasses and bushy moustache who never said a word, only nodded and offered her friendly smiles. 

Veronica would sit at her shitty desk using shitty ballpoint pens until one o'clock when she'd take her lunch up to the fifth floor conference rooms. They were only used twice a year it seemed and no one ever went up to them otherwise, so they made for a peaceful escape from her loud and annoying coworkers. She'd hide away and read while she ate, sometimes books and sometimes other pieces of news for inspiration and ideas. Her long term goal had always been to climb the ranks to journalist and she was determined to get that ball rolling again.

When she'd finally leave work around five-thirty and arrive back home around six-twenty, she'd make two phone calls. First to Martha, as her friend informed her that she had managed to convince her husband to purchase the house she gushed over and that they were in the process of relocating their belongings to it. They'd talk for an hour or so, at least until seven-fifty because that's when Javier would be home. Veronica would curl the phone cord around her fingers as she told him about her day and listened to his stories about the crazy customers he dealt with that day. He'd mention their dinner plans for Friday and she'd confirm them over and over, smiling stupidly all the while.

But there was always a lingering ache in her chest, one that became harder to ignore when she would lay in bed at night. Veronica would find herself tossing and turning and willing the hollow burn to go away. And it would when sleep finally came for her, but it would come right back in the morning after a restless night of painful dreams and visions of ghosts. She could keep the images of broken glass and blue poison in the background, faded and muted, but she couldn't stop seeing the dark eyes or the smell the burning flesh.

She'd try and forget it all as she dressed for work, thinking instead about all of the things she used to distract herself from the inhuman visage she would see in her dreams. And they'd work, she could forget about the night terrors, but the ache persisted.

Tonight she told Javier about how her shitty pens either wrote too faint or bled through the papers and lamented about her stolen fountain pen. Javier's playful tone faded into a more serious one as he said, "I can get it back for you."

"What, are you gonna walk in and just demand it back?" Veronica chuckled, "It's not that big of a deal; I'll get it back eventually. I'm just...biding my time. He's an asshole but he's bonded with the rest of the assholes so there's not a lot I can do without painting a target on my back."

Javier hummed in thought but deviously said, "I have my ways. You'll have that pen back by dinner tomorrow night. If you're still wanting to go, that is."

"Yeah!" Veronica replied maybe a little too quickly. She made herself slow down and added, "I'm definitely still wanting to go. I've been looking forward to it all week."

"Fantastic. I'll see you and your fancy pen at eight?"

"Definitely."

Veronica wondered all night about what Javier would do to get her her pen back, picturing him entering the office like a knight from a fairy tale and challenging the men of the office to a duel for it. Or maybe he'd strut in and charm the pants off of everyone, worm his way into their good graces, and then make off with it while they were distracted. Or perhaps he'd just come in and ask for it and they'd give it to him without questions. Men were weird like that sometimes.

It was a good distraction from the ache.

She dreamed up ideas as she got ready in the morning and ate her breakfast on the way into the office, but by the time lunch rolled around her thoughts were preoccupied with the copy of Times magazine in her hands. 

Veronica finished her lunch and rode the elevator back down to her floor, nose still stuck in the articles as she exited them and meandered back to her side of the building. No one was usually out and about at this time, but someone briskly walked past her in loud heels and Veronica assumed it was a receptionist running papers. 

Her magazine was stuffed back into her bag before she entered and she was glad she did as most if not all of her coworkers were crowded around her old desk. The newest asshole -- _Kyle? Kevin? Kenny? Pen-thieving asshole is a better name_ \-- sat proudly in his seat as the guys around him spoke animatedly and over one another. Veronica rolled her eyes and stepped around them all to go to her desk but was stopped by one of them seeing her and calling, "Hey, Sawyer! You just missed your friend!"

She remembered the pen heist plans and smirked to herself but asked coyly, "Oh? I had a friend stop by?"

"Yeah, stopped in looking for you! Had something for you; left it on your desk!" 

Bingo.

Veronica slowed her pace to her desk and turned to address the flock of eagerly speaking men. "Great! I was actually expecting something today and it seems it arrived just in time. It's sad that he left without even saying hi to me." She was smugly smiling at getting her stuff back and was curious how Javier managed to not only steal back her pen but also put everyone in a great mood.

"He? Nah, Sawyer, you must thinking of a different friend. _She_ was hot."

That made her smile dip and her brows furrow. "What?" 

"Blonde, legs for miles, pretty eyes--"

"Like you were even looking at her eyes!"

"She came in looking for you but stopped and was talking to Keith! She was practically all over him!"

Keith -- _pen-thieving asshole is still a better name_ \-- was sitting back in his chair with a proud grin plastered across his face. There was very clearly a lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth and he dragged his eyes over to Veronica's with a chuckle. "I may have shown her a thing or two about editing. She was very interested in, uh, learning. Sat right here," He pat his thigh with a pleased expression, "and I taught her everything I knew. _Excellent_ learner, you should bring her by more often!"

Veronica could feel a pit growing in her stomach as he spoke and couldn't keep the confusion off her face even if she tried. "Wait...Heather? She was here?"

" _Heather._ " Keith grinned with his teeth again and didn't pick up on her confusion at all. He instead raised an eyebrow and asked, "She single? If she is, let her know that I'd be willing to teach her anytime. I could always use a new piece of _ass_ -sistant."

The guys laughed and parroted the joke amongst themselves but Veronica wasn't paying attention. Her mind went back to whatever was waiting on her desk and Veronica felt dread inch down her spine. Every step she took closer to her desk she asked herself another question.

_Why was Heather here? How did she know this was my office? What was she doing here? Was she actually looking for me? Why? Is she really still so pissed with me that she'd follow me to work? What did she put on my desk? Is it safe? Is she trying to kill me again? But she said we were even, was she lying?_

Sitting front and center on her desk was an innocuous little white box. Beside it, one of her steno pads lay open. Veronica only crept close enough to read it and was only more confused by the note. A single large, looping cursive sentence had been written in the familiar ink of her fountain pen.

_'Wear this tonight'_

Veronica carefully picked up the box and opened it like it would blow up in her face or unleash a hoard of angry bees into her face. It turned out to be neither of this things and instead was full of tissue paper with a glass bottle of perfume inside. Her pen was nowhere to be found.

She didn't work for the rest of the day, only sat at her desk staring at the perfume and the note and wondering just what the hell was going on. Just when she thought she might be free of the enigma that was Heather Chandler, Veronica was proven wrong yet again and was completely lost on what to do next. Her pen missing meant that Heather must have taken it -- _but why would she? Why would she even come here? How did she even know about then pen?_

 _Javier._ Veronica groaned and rubbed her forehead. _He had to have told her. Did he put her up to this thinking that we're still friends?_

It occurred to her then that she had never really told him where she stood with Heather now. The most he knew was that Veronica had apologized, but she hadn't said anything more than that. But, in all fairness, she didn't even know where she stood with Heather. Veronica thought after their very one-sided conversation that they were done with each other and would do exactly as she had said and ignore one another's existence completely. 

_But then why the hell would she do this? Or give me perfume? She's the one who didn't want to see me again, so what is all of this? What the hell is going on?_

Veronica thought about it all until her head hurt and then thought some more. She knew the easiest way to an answer was to knock on Heather's door, but even then she feared what may happen. The only constant truth Veronica knew about any of this was that Heather was confusing as hell and probably wouldn't give her a straight forward answer anyway. 

It made her chest ache more.

Every entrance and exit to the apartment building was usually full of apprehension and anxiety at running into the blonde, but as Veronica returned that evening she was hoping to run into her. The laundry room was empty, the stairwell silent, the elevators full of other people coming home, and the fire escape quiet. Veronica paused at her door and seriously considered taking the few strides to knock on the one next to her before ultimately pushing her own open and escaping into it. She would just ask Javier about it. She had about an hour and half before their date, her questions could wait until then.

It had easily been years since Veronica had gone on a proper date. She barely knew what to do with herself besides showering and praying a nice dress from college still fit. As luck would have it, the dress did not fit her anymore and Veronica stood in only a towel and searched her closet in a frenzy for something suitable. Ironically, one of her blue plaid skirts from high school still fit so she pulled that and a black sweater on. She looked at herself in the mirror and could remember Heather McNamara gushing about how cute she looked in the skirt while insisting she complete the outfit with stockings. She settled on black tights then moved to the bathroom to stare at make-up she barely touched.

Veronica had always been shit with make-up. No matter how many times the Heathers tried to explain to her the difference between foundation and powder she still couldn't keep them straight. The most she ever did was mascara and a chap-stick that tinted her lips a very slight pink. Her attempts at applying eyeliner ended with irritated eyes and smudges everywhere, so she wiped her face clean and decided that if she could get a date from a guy like Javier without make-up on then she could eat dinner with him like that too. But maybe she would actually put on some lipstick -- just a little.

As pleased as she could be with her face, Veronica hunted down her nicest and shortest pair of heels to get a quick practice walk in. Heels were another thing she had always been shit at. They would trip her up and get caught in every possible crack and crevice no matter what. She walked laps around her furniture while keeping a watchful eye on the clock in the kitchen. The closer to eight it got the more nervous she became, the kind of nervousness that curdled her stomach and made her feel sweaty and gross. Veronica eventually dropped into her recliner and tried to calm herself, her eyes drifting to the white box sitting on her coffee table.

Curiosity got the better of her so she leaned forward to take it and open it up. The perfume had a clear crystal topper and the red of the bottle was so dark it almost looked black. Veronica turned it over in her hands and blanched at the label. 

_Holy shit,_ Dior? _This stuff costs more than my rent!_

It wasn't a full bottle, missing maybe a fourth of it's contents, but Veronica was still taken aback at the thought of being given expensive perfume for literally no reason. She pulled the top off and sniffed, thinking that maybe it just really sucked and Heather was trying to sabotage her date.

 _Holy shit that's nice._ Veronica stared at the bottle in disbelief. _There was no way this came without a catch. It had to be a trick -- the damn perfume is even called 'Poison'! It's probably full of snake venom or chemicals that will kill me._

Even so, she couldn't deny how good it smelled or how sweaty she was. Veronica carefully dabbed a bit on her neck and wrists and waited for something to happen. 

Nothing did, not with the perfume at least. She almost dropped the bottle on the floor at the knock on her door. Veronica stuffed the perfume back into it's box and hid it under a blanket like it was stolen before straightening her clothes and hair out. With a deep inhale, Veronica opened the door and smiled at the sight of Javier holding a bouquet of roses. He wore a dark blue suit jacket and slacks, a few buttons to his white shirt unbuttoned. "Too much?" He asked while gesturing to the flowers.

"No, they're lovely." Veronica said while taking them, "Thank you. You didn't have to."

"It seemed appropriate. _'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet'_." 

Veronica's smile grew and she felt herself blush, "Starting with the literature talk already? Might be careful starting out with 'Romeo and Juliet'."

Javier offered his arm to her and replied with a smile of his own, "Then I guess we'll have to start somewhere else. But perhaps at the restaurant and over some wine? I figured we could walk but I can get a cab if you'd prefer."

"Walking's fine!" Veronica pivoted to gently toss the roses on the coffee table then took Javier's arm, "It's a pretty nice night for a walk."

"I think so too." Javier studied her for a moment before commenting, "I like this perfume. It's very nice."

Veronica awkwardly chuckled and muttered, "A friend loaned it to me..."

"Well your friend has very good tastes."

They strolled down the sidewalk arm in arm among the throngs of people still coming home or going out to enjoy the start to their weekend. They'd debate writing styles and what should and shouldn't be considered the classics, and as they walked Veronica noticed women turn their heads to watch them go by. It made her feel powerful and a little bit arrogant to be the one holding onto Javier's arm, to be the reason he was laughing and smiling. He was so out of her league and she wanted to shove that fact in everyone's faces.

The restaurant he chose was equally out of her league, what with the crystal chandelier in the entrance and the red velvet ropes preventing people from moving past the host's stand. Veronica immediately deflated at the feeling of being both underdressed and underpaid for a place like this, but Javier kept his head high and whisked them to the front desk where he spoke casually with the hosts. They recognized him and called him by name, sharing a quick laugh before unclipping the velvet rope and leading them to a table for two right by a large stain glass window. 

Javier requested a bottle wine and some waters while Veronica gaped at the menu. It was _definitely_ out of her pay range. She nibbled the inside of her cheek as she looked for the cheapest salad and nearly jumped when Javier took her hand in his. "My treat tonight," He told her with a dashing smile, "order whatever you'd like. I recommend the lobster bisque, it's quite good."

"Haven't you paid for my dinner enough times already?" Veronica teased as she tried to mask her relief, "I'm going to get you back one of these days."

He shrugged and mentioned coolly, "Perhaps next time. But tonight, let me take care of you. Speaking of which..." Javier released her hand to reach into his suit jacket and produced her fountain pen with a flourish, "I believe this to be yours, _meu amor._ "

Veronica took her pen with a grateful sigh and rolled it through her fingers. All of her previous grace and guarded politeness nearly fell away in favor of her grilling him about why Heather retrieved it, but Veronica put on her best innocent voice and said, "You're the best; thank you Javier. The guys at the office are such creeps, I don't even know how you managed to get it back."

A waiter came by to deliver their drinks and pour the wine, leaving Veronica in a nervous limbo. When they were alone again, Javier took a sip of his wine then explained. " _I_ didn't actually. I knew I would have to be sly with it, so I spoke with the most devious mind I know."

"Heather." Veronica answered for him, squeezing her pen a little.

"Exactly! I told her the situation and she said she would take care of it."

"Really?" 

"Really -- she practically insisted, in fact! So I waited for her outside, she went in, got the pen, came back out and now here we are! Mission accomplished!" Javier raised his glass to her, "To your wayward pen finding it's way home."

Veronica slowly mirrored his action but didn't take a drink, instead sitting her glass back down and the pen aside to ask, "Okay but you're not serious, right? I mean -- why would Heather do something like this for me? Why would she do something like this period?"

Javier frowned and looked at her curiously while suggesting, "Because...you are friends? I thought you two made up."

"We did -- well, not really. I mean I apologized to her but she didn't really say anything back but I also didn't let her really say anything back so...it's complicated." Veronica lamely explained. The ache in her chest was returning but this time it brought with it the chilling feeling of being watched.

"You talked to her and didn't even let her get a word in? I'm surprised you've lived to tell the tale. But seriously, she did offer to do it of her own volition; I didn't pressure her or goad her into anything. I just told her what happened and she decided to do it herself." Javier held Veronica's hand again while mentioning, "You could always go ask her why. I'm sure she can give you a better answer than I can."

The warmth of his hand helped take some of the chills off the back of her neck so Veronica squeezed it slightly. "I wish it were that easy, but she told me she didn't want to talk to me again so I told her I wouldn't. But then she goes and does something like this? I just don't get it -- it doesn't make any sense to me."

"Heather rarely does make sense." He commented passively.

"Yeah but this is like, peak weird even by her normal standards." Veronica rubbed at her forehead as she voiced her thoughts, "Heather seemed so normal when we first talked -- more normal than I had ever seen her. She actually talked to me and _emoted_ and it just seemed like she cared. But then she did a total one-eighty on me and went right back to being cryptic and mean but now she's doing me favors? And I'd just go talk to her but every time I've tried before she just blows up in my face and then I blow up right back and we say really stupid shit to try and hurt each other and--"

"Veronica." Javier squeezed her hand back and stopped her, getting her attention and giving her a slightly exasperated smile. "I would love to try and help you fix your relationship with your friend, but right now I'd love it more if we could talk something else. It seems like every conversation we have revolves around Heather. She's great and strange and fun to have around but can't we let tonight be about us? I'd like to know about you."

"You're right, I'm sorry. I've just..." The cold was creeping back up her spine and the ache felt like it was spreading throughout her whole body. "...I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"Then take a break for a little while with me. It's just the two of us." Javier's kind smile returned as he prompted her, "You never did tell me what your favorite book was."

Veronica tried to focus on the question and think of her answer, but the emotions assaulting her inside and out prevented her from thinking of anything other than handwritten letters and suicide manifestos. She tried to think of anything else, trying to focus on some other detail but it only lead back to the black eyes and towering figure. She closed her eyes, hoping it would seem like she was thinking and not trying to squash the irrational fear mounting. Veronica could only conjure images of fallen leaves stained with blood and the unfiltered terror in Kurt's eyes as he watched Ram drop dead beside him. The vicious pounding on her door as J.D. shouted for her to let him in so he could kill her too. The hundreds of copies of the suicide note she wrote posted all over the school in a myriad of--

_Myriad. Heather. The drain cleaner. The glass. The sound of her choking. The stillness after she fell._

Veronica could feel the panic in her rising and tried to fight it off. She tried to think of something, anything, but her mind was stuck replaying that awful morning. Stuck showing her J.D.'s playful smirks and lingering touches, the blue of the chemicals, the way Heather scoffed at her--

_Blue eyes full of pain and tears. A voice she had only ever heard be strong breaking and made small with vulnerability. The hand with an iron grip gentle as it touched her own. A genuine smile and laugh, the messy hair, the rarely seen freckles._

_"It's...comforting to know that I wasn't alone."_

Buried grief filled the ache.

Alone. That's what Veronica was feeling. No one could ever understand what it felt like to be her. She could try and distract herself with new routines and hot guys and books, but none of it would ever be able to truly free her mind of everything that tortured her. Because no one would understand what it felt like. Like a rotting corpse brought back to life, dragging itself through the motions of a normal person but ultimately not even something human. Just something _wrong._

And at the center of it all, maybe the only person alive who might know what it's like. _Blue eyes filled with fire, voice loud and angry like thunder, hands hard and tight, lips drawn back into sneers and snarls, strawberry blonde hair neatly curled and pulled back by a black scrunchie, freckles that are hidden away beneath make-up._

_She feels as alone as I do._

Veronica opened her eyes and blinked away her tears, knowing she had been quiet for too long. Thinking still of the reddish-blonde hair and the freckles Veronica mindlessly answered 'Anne of Green Gables' and didn't listen to whatever Javier said in response.

She knew she should be paying attention. She didn't want to ruin what should be a good thing. She needed to shut her brain down before it ran her into the ground. Veronica took her wine glass in hand and drained it, letting out a pleased sigh at the warmth spreading out from the center of her chest. It made the ache easier to ignore.

The more she drank the easier it became and the lighter she felt. Veronica could return to the good mood she was in from earlier and laugh at the stories Javier told her and tell her own in return. She could get lost in his eyes and his smile and at how nice his hand felt in hers. She could forget about everything and just be a normal woman on a date.

She didn't have to be alone right now.

The walk back to her apartment was fuzzy and if she really thought about it, it probably wasn't a good thing to not remember. 

Javier held the back of her neck and pulled her closer, nearly guiding her into his lap as he kissed her fiercely. Veronica followed his lead and straddled his thighs while pushing his suit jacket down his arms and feeling his muscles as she did so.

_Think later, kiss hot Portuguese guy now._

He kissed down her neck and then back up, finding a spot at the corner of her jaw that made Veronica shiver and sticking there. His hands trailed up her legs, pushing her skirt up her thighs and dragging his nails across her tights. Veronica gripped his shoulders and let him roam. She choked out a surprised moan when he gripped her thighs tighter and pulled her roughly against him. She felt hot all over and light-headed in a good way, letting him guide her into raising her arms so he could pull the sweater off her.

Javier kissed her again as he grabbed her chest, making her gasp again at the forcefulness of it. "Sorry," He said into her lips, "that was terrible etiquette."

Something _very_ unpleasant shot through her stomach.

Veronica jerked backwards hard enough that she almost fell off the couch and flat on her back, but she caught herself with a stumble and back-peddled to put her back against the wall. They were both breathing heavily and Javier sat with a bewildered look on his face at her sudden departure. She stepped close enough only to grab her fallen sweater but returned to put herself as far away from him as possible, feeling overly exposed and a growing discomfort.

"I'm...I'm sorry?" Javier offered weakly, still unsure of what just happened.

Covering herself with the sweater without actually putting it on, Veronica shrank under his gaze and tried to get her breathing under control. "No, it's my fault." She heaved, "I'm sorry. I'm just...now isn't a good time." Javier leaned his head back with a long exhale and Veronica insisted, "I swear it wasn't you. I-It was great, _really_ great but...I'm just not okay with this right now."

He sat forward and nodded while trying to straighten himself out. "I understand." He said slowly, collecting his things and rising to walk to the door. Veronica slid her sweater back on and met him there, staying firmly at the edge of the door as he stepped out into the hallway. "I hope dinner was nice at least." Javier said with a half-smile.

"It was," Veronica assured him, "and I'd love to do it again sometime. And maybe...maybe this too."

"I'd like that too." Javier replied with a wink. He leaned forward to kiss her on the temple and whispered something in Portuguese then translated for her, "Good night and sweet dreams, love."

Veronica watched him go bitterly and closed her door with a frustrated scream inside her mouth. She whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at the open air. "Stop it!" She demanded, "Stop hanging around and ruining my chances at being normal! I know you're there, so just go away! You fucked up your chance, stopping trying to fuck up mine! Take the hint! Get out of here and just leave me alone! _I hate you!_ "

She stood staring at nothing and breathing heavily again, her hands shaking and rubbing together to try and gain heat to them. Veronica stepped back to the couch and sat heavily, wincing as her ass met something hard. Reaching underneath her and feeling around under a blanket she pulled the white box of perfume. 

She was out the door without a single thought, walking with a sway and a purpose to the apartment next door. Veronica reached out and knocked loud enough that it was probably considered a bang but she didn't care. The door opened and Christian looked down at her with a cocked brow. "Where's. Heather." Veronica demanded through clenched teeth.

Christian snorted at her disheveled appearance and smirked, "What'd she do this time?" Upon realizing that Veronica wasn't joking he rolled his eyes. "I don't know -- out smoking probably. She took the hunk of junk and left without saying anything. Usually means I won't see her until tomorrow."

He continued to prattle on about something but Veronica was already storming away and around the corner. Her eyes narrowed at the propped open door to the fire escape and she reached it in a few quick strides.

The door swung wide and Heather jolted at it's sound, yanking her headphones off and looking Veronica up and down. She recovered from her surprise and casually took a drag of her cigarette and asked, "So how was dinner?"

Veronica stepped out and slammed the door shut, holding the white box out and letting the unfiltered anger and frustration build. "What the hell is this?"

"A box." Heather answered in a deadpan.

"No," Veronica stepped closer and shook it in the blonde's face, "what the hell _is this?_ Why did you give this to me?"

Heather scoffed and flicked her cigarette off to the side. "Because it's Javier's favorite and I knew it would get him all over you. You're welcome for the fuck, by the way."

"We didn't!" Veronica hissed, her face flushing but from anger or embarrassment she didn't know. "And that's not an answer! Why did you give this to me and why did you get my pen back?"

"Jesus Christ, quit making a big deal over nothing! You gave me Heather's phone number so I got you your stupid pen back; we're even. Again."

"So the perfume? You gave it to me so you'd think I would owe you something next?"

"You're too caught up in the details, Sawyer. Can't you believe that I gave it to you out of the kindness in my heart and a willingness to show growth? You know, all that _change_ bullshit you keep preaching?"

Veronica growled and lowered the box. "No, I can't believe it because you don't make _any_ Goddamn sense!" Heather leaned back against the railing and watched her fume in amusement. "You wanted an apology, I gave you one! You didn't want to talk to me, I didn't say a word! You didn't want to see me, I stayed away! So why would you turn around and insert yourself back into my life?! What do you want from me?! Why are you like this?! Just-just _why?!_ "

Heather gave Veronica that smug smirk she was known for and simply replied, "Why not?"

They stood staring at each other in a tense quiet. It reminded Veronica of the first time they did this in Heather's apartment, but this time neither seemed timid and afraid. No, Heather looked like her old pretentious self and Veronica could feel herself ready to snap. The thought of throwing a punch of her own crossed her mind, then the thought of going a step further and giving her a matching bruise around the neck, and then even further at the image of Heather laying prone on the concrete below.

Veronica gripped her head and willed the thoughts to go away, wanting them out of her head before the lead to worse things. But it was too late, all she could see was the blonde crumpled on carpeted floor covered in glass and all she could hear was that blood-curdling gagging and gasping. Her fingers pulled tightly at her hair, praying to whatever would listen to stop herself from spiraling back into that incurable panic. Hands grasped her by the forearms and held on tightly, trying to pull her arms down by force. Veronica refused to comply, her chest seizing at the memory of J.D. pulling her arms to embrace her right after he shot Kurt or when he was trying to get his gun back before the bomb went off.

She could hear him whispering in her ear, feel him surrounding her and choking her with the smell of smoke. The last time he held her like this was right after they killed Ram and Kurt. J.D. wrapped her up in his arms in what should have been a comforting, loving embrace. It was more akin to being restrained and held hostage. Veronica knew she couldn't fight him. She made the mistake of saying she hated him, that he ruined her, that he was evil. The fear of how he'd react overpowered every other sense, so she went limp in his arms and tried not to think about what he would kill her with.

_"You were meant to be mine." He had insisted, "Our love is God."_

He wanted her to say it back as she did before, but Veronica wasn't sure she was even breathing anymore. His grip tightened and constricted her further. He was angry at her silence and she was terrified of what he'd do it hear it back.

Veronica's mouth was full of cotton but she tried to wet her lips, moving them without sound and praying it would be enough. She wordlessly whispered it over and over to him, become more aware of the hot tears sliding down her cheeks. That was good, that meant that maybe this would be over soon. Veronica pulled at her hair again and whimpered at the pain in her scalp, another sign that she was waking up from the nightmare.

But there were still arms holding her tightly and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke.

Gradually she came back to herself and realized what was actually happening.

They were sitting on their knees on the fire escape. Heather had her in a steady embrace with a hand rubbing a circle between her shoulders. Her voice was the same delicate one from their reunion as she tucked Veronica's head under her chin and muttered, "You're okay. Just breathe, Veronica. Breathe. You're going to be alright."

Veronica wanted to ask what was going on. She had even more questions for Heather now and needed to understand. But Veronica could only think about how nice it was to be held like this. She felt safe. She felt protected. She felt warm. She felt seen. She felt _understood._

She felt so much all at once until she didn't know what she was feeling, but she knew she wasn't ready for it to stop. Veronica's hands quivered as she brought them away from her head, carefully setting them on Heather's shoulders and waiting to be shoved off. 

Instead, Heather leaned back to try and look at her and asked in a voice so gentle, "Are you okay?"

Veronica finally snapped, just not in the way she first expected. Her whole body contracted with sobs and she tried to hide her face away in Heather's hair. Her arms wrapped around and promptly clung to the blonde, a nonverbal plea for her not to leave right now. She got her answer immediately as Heather went back to rubbing her back and uttering words of comfort. 

It should have been embarrassing, but Veronica realized that what she was actually feeling was relief. Her cries gradually waned into harsh sniffles and hiccups and Veronica wet her lips again to admit frailly, "I'm tired of being alone."

She could feel Heather's breath catch her in chest and Veronica briefly worried if she fucked up and would be left on her own again. Heather covered whatever hesitation she had with a light scoff. "Pillowcase," she murmured, "I'm right here." They got to their feet bit by bit, Veronica leaning heavily into Heather's side and still not ready to let go of her. It was awkward, but they managed to exit the fire escape and make their way to Veronica's apartment. The door was left unlocked but Veronica decided she could be angry at herself for that later.

Heather sat them on the couch and made a noise of disgust at it. Veronica smiled at it and muttered, "You really haven't changed since high school."

"I guess there are some things therapy just can't fix." Heather joked. She was tense now but she let Veronica continue to huddle into her side and shoulder. "Go to sleep." Heather told her, "Drunk and upset is a shitty combination. You'll feel better in the morning."

Veronica couldn't deny her exhaustion and settled her head on the blonde's shoulder. "Is that what you always are?" It was meant to be a tease back but it came out sounding genuine.

Heather sighed and answered, "Yeah, it is. Now go the fuck to sleep, Sawyer. You owe me double now."

The smile came back and Veronica closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of being held while waiting for sleep. As psychotic as it sounded, hearing Heather breathe was oddly soothing and the softness of her hair helped ease Veronica. This close, she noticed the barely there scent of the perfume too. 

The ache in her chest was gone and she wondered if it would stay around a while.

Her dreams were just that for once -- dreams. No nightmares of past mistakes or failures, no visions of what happened and no thought soiled by the claws of a demon.

When Veronica woke up she was wrapped in her blanket and Heather was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ´ ω ` )ノﾞ heelllooo again! so i didn't think i'd have this chapter out so soon, but it's crazy how things work out! just as a heads up, i will be taking a break until the second week of the new year! so please wait for the next chapter until then! thank you so much for readin and commentin and the kudos and everything else! yer all peaches and i greatly appreciate it 
> 
> i hope you all have a merry holiday! stay safe! make smart decisions! i love you, and i can't wait to see you again! ♡(｡- ω -)


	7. The Day Before You Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's funny, but I had no sense of living without aim_  
> 

Veronica wasn't sure what time it was when she woke up. Truthfully, she barely even knew where she was. Certainly not her bed, judging by the smell and lumpiness of the couch she lay on. It took her more than a few moments to sit up and recognize her own apartment. Her memory was hazy but the throbbing in her forehead and behind her eyes meant that she definitely had had a rough night.

She carefully untucked herself from the throw blanket covering her and set her feet on the ground, frowning at the fact that she apparently passed out fully clothed. _Did I really drink that much last night at the restaurant--_

It all came back to her at once and Veronica found herself reaching for the blanket again. The full-body chill and heavy ache in her chest came back with her memories and she cautiously surveyed her apartment for any other signs of life. It was still and quiet save for her own laboured breathing. She knew the probabilities were slim to none but she still called out in a raspy voice, "Heather?"

She wasn't sure if she was relieved or distraught at the silence but Veronica refused to linger on either. No matter how long she had slept for, she still felt exhausted and too drained to want to think about anything. Veronica used her blanket as a cloak and shuffled into her bedroom to strip down to her socks and underwear and crawl into bed. She lay there with her eyes half open waiting for sleep she knew wouldn't come, not now. As tired as she was, her brain wouldn't shut off or stop replaying the events of last night, leaving her to question every decision she made.

Squeezing her eyes shut and begging for unconsciousness, Veronica curled into a tight ball and tried to think about something else.

Martha came to mind first. She could always call Martha later and talk to her; Martha always gave great advice. Then her parents, she'd need to call them. Her mother never stopped worrying about her health but would never directly tell her that. It was her father who would remind her to take care of herself and was even the one to spearhead her brief time in therapy. She'd need to tell them about this latest episode and assure them that she was fine. And Heather McNamara -- Veronica never actually called her like Martha told her to. But she'd have to talk to Martha first get her phone number again.

Veronica felt herself growing drowsy and uncurled slightly as she relaxed more. 

The knock on her door made her flinch.

She sat up and resigned herself to answering it, too fatigued to convince herself to ignore it. The blanket became her cloak again as she made her way into the living area while murmuring to no one that she was coming. Veronica grimaced at her unlocked door but slowly opened it a crack and peered through.

Heather stared back at her with as even of an expression as she could -- which looked somewhere between disgusted and pissed -- and nudged the door open wider. "Let me in, Sawyer." She ordered with an equally even voice. She wore the same jeans and blacked tucked in cotton shirt as she did when they fought in the laundry room, but this time had her hair pulled back into a high ponytail with the black scrunchie.

Veronica's head pounded with her millions of questions again but she pushed them back with a groan and stepped back to let the blonde in. She was moving on the pure instinct to avoid a confrontation as she got out of the way and let Heather enter. Veronica stared owlishly as Heather walked in carrying plastic bags in her hands and kicked the door shut with an uncaring slam. Heather left Veronica hovering by the door and went into the kitchen where she tossed her bags onto the countertop. As casually as she would in her own home, Heather began opening cabinets and drawers until she found a frying pan and placed it on the stovetop. 

"What are you doing?" Veronica was surprised at how frail her voice sounded and cleared her throat like it would give her more strength. At no response she tried again a little louder, "Heather, what are--"

"I'm making breakfast, Sawyer. Keep your pants on." She eyed Veronica briefly then flicked her hand in her direction, "Actually, go put some pants on. And take a shower. You look like hell." Veronica stayed where she was and blinked, causing Heather to face her fully and point a finger at the hall, "Go. _Now._ Before I drag your ass in there and do you like they did me in the psych ward. Except I'll waterboard you."

She didn't know what exactly compelled her to comply, but Veronica dragged herself into the shower and then into a pair of shorts and a tank top. She was nearly convinced that this was all one big hallucination, that Heather wasn't actually here. It wouldn't be the first time it happened, a detail Veronica didn't mention when retelling her side of the story to Heather. Despite every other unnerving moment in their complicated history, telling Heather that she saw visions of her supposed corpse was the detail that unsettled Veronica the most.

Especially now, because instead of a dead teenager leaking drain cleaner and bitching at her she had a very much alive woman wielding a spatula and bitching at her. Which was worse was to be determined.

The situation wasn't any less baffling when Veronica reentered the living area to the mouth-watering smell of food and the sight of Heather cracking an egg into the pan. Veronica went taut when Heather suddenly looked over at her with that unreadable expression. "Your pans suck," She told her nonchalantly, "and I cannot believe you don't own a skillet. Who doesn't have a damn skillet?"

"I-I'm sorry?" Veronica choked out. She shifted from foot to foot and looked from the blonde to the bags she brought. "What--"

"Sit down." Heather snapped suddenly. She viewed Veronica with a cold eye and pointed with the spatula, "Save the bullshit for later. Find something on TV to watch that isn't going to bore me to death."

Still unsure of her sanity, Veronica lowered herself onto the couch and turned the television on to mindlessly flick through channels. She paused on one that was mid-episode of 'The Twilight Zone' and set the remote down as quietly as possible. She was on edge and didn't know if she was nearing a mental breakdown or at it's epicenter. Either way, she did not want to piss off Heather while in such close quarters. She didn't think she could handle a verbal or physical scuffle right now.

Veronica flinched again at the plate being placed in her lap and flushed at the weird look Heather gave her. Whatever was on the plate smelled and looked amazing: hash browns with cheese, bacon, and eggs thrown on top it looked like. She cautiously took a small bite with the intention of checking for anything odd that may lead to her death, but Veronica forgot about it the instant the food reached her mouth. 

"Holy shit this is good." She mumbled around a full mouth.

Heather sat beside her and ate from her own plate -- albeit much slower. "It's probably the best damn hangover cure I know. It would be better, but your taste is trash and the only spices you own are salt and pepper. I don't know what kind of bland-ass food you've been eating but it must be disgusting."

Veronica felt a little stronger now that she had some food in her and said defensively, "So what if I don't use fancy spices? I barely cook anyways."

"God, I shouldn't be surprised. Zero taste in fashion and zero taste in cuisine. You are so painfully suburban."

"Jeez, sorry I'm not rich and used to eating fancy shit all the time?"

"A breakfast skillet is _not_ fancy, Sawyer. And neither is owning basic spices like cumin or rosemary -- you don't even have _garlic._ "

"Again, I don't cook. What am I gonna put rosemary on? Pizza bagels? Bite me, Chandler."

They fell into a lull, but it wasn't tense or uncomfortable. Veronica actually found herself smiling as she ate at the familiarity of their conversation. It was like reliving a high school memory of the two of them bickering over nothing but unwilling to back down no matter what. It made her feel better in a strange way and she still wasn't quite ready to question it. Much like the hug between them last night, it made Veronica feel many things at once that didn't make a lot of sense but she knew she didn't want to lose them just yet.

When they finished eating Heather took the plates back to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water and the leather side bag Veronica saw her with in the elevator. She pulled out a notebook and short deck of notecards that she flicked through quickly until finding a specific one that she set aside. Veronica watched her in interest until Heather glanced up at her and scowled. Shrinking under the look and losing that pleasant feeling in her chest, Veronica tentatively tried to ask again, "What's going on? If this is about last night then I'm sorry I freaked out and--"

"Shut up." Heather told her without looking up from her notecards. Veronica hunched into herself and dropped her eyes to her hands as she began picking at her cuticles. The silence was turning sour and it was overwhelming, so much so that Veronica could feel a sudden heat behind her eyes. She quietly cursed at herself for being so unstable and tried to ignore the growing weight in her chest. Her mind was beginning to slip back into that place that made her apathetic and numb but Heather sighed and pulled her back. "Chill out and stop overthinking everything. You're clearly not in the right headspace to be as annoyingly inquisitive as you always are. It won't kill you to let your brain rot for a few hours. Especially after your little breakdown last night."

Veronica flushed at it finally being acknowledged and considered the advice. It sounded nice, but she at least needed one answer before she'd let herself mentally check out.

"Why?"

Heather scoffed at the question and Veronica disappointedly tucked herself into the arm of the couch and tried to settle in to watch 'The Twilight Zone'. Between the droning of the television and the sounds of Heather scribbling in her notebook, Veronica felt her eyelids growing heavy again. She had only just let them close when Heather spoke in a low voice. "I know how much moments like that suck. And I know that you feel like shit after them too. You get over them easier if you veg out for a while."

It made sense that Heather would have similar experiences, but Veronica's brain was close to mush already so she stupidly pressed. "You've had panic attacks? Over what, not having enough nutmeg?" She almost immediately caught herself, "Sorry. That was shitty."

"You know, you're a lot less annoying when you're asleep. You should try doing that again so I don't have to listen to your bullshit."

"I'm sorry." Veronica murmured. She kept her eyes closed, unable to face the woman right now. The ache in her chest as coming back and she was afraid of looking only to see a dead girl sitting on the other end of the couch. Gripping the grimy cushion beneath her, Veronica swallowed down her fears and continued while she still could. "I'm sorry, Heather. I don't want to fight or be a bitch. I never did. I don't know why I keep fucking up, maybe that's all I'm really good at." There were hot tears in her eyes again and she squeezed them tightly. "I'm just so tired and I don't know what I'm doing anymore and I'm so sorry I--"

"Veronica." Heather cut her off with the same stern voice she used earlier to shoo her into the shower. "Stop talking before you work yourself up again. You got snot all over my blouse last night and I do _not_ want a repeat of that now. Shut your brain down."

With a bitter smile Veronica muttered, "Freeze your brain, huh?"

"Yeah sure, whatever. Just calm down."

Veronica let the ambient noises around her lull her again into sleep, a new sort of calm overcoming her. It was reminiscent of the hug from last night, something that chased away the ache in her chest and the ghosts that tried to come to her in her dreams. Truthfully, there were no dreams with this sleep. It was just a peaceful silence, thick and heavy and comforting. It didn't last very long, that much Veronica knew, but she once again shifted awake in a daze about where she was. Her legs stretched out on instinct and her feet poked into firm flesh. Veronica retracted them instantly and lifted her head to look to the other end of the couch.

Heather had put away her notebook and flashcards and sat watching television with an almost bored expression. She didn't react to Veronica kicking her which led the brunette to wondering if she had been doing it the entire time. But those thoughts were pushed aside at the touching realization of even waking up with company.

"You stayed." Veronica whispered in astonishment.

At her voice Heather glanced over and she started to scoff and say something but stopped herself and faced forward again. Veronica watched her clench and unclench her jaw for a moment before Heather spoke in a quiet voice. "The first time I woke up, I had no idea where I was. I was surrounded by machines and there were tubes everywhere -- down my throat, up my nose, even in my ears. And I was alone." Her face hardened and it seemed like she was considering her words again. Veronica took the pause to sit up and cross her legs, facing the blonde and watching her carefully. She was unsure of where this was going, but Veronica knew this was a huge step in a whole new direction.

Heather's eyes flicked over to her then back to the television, her nails tapping against her own thighs. When she spoke again, her voice was much more faint than before. "I couldn't feel anything, like my arms and legs felt like they were just gone. I tried to move but I just couldn't, and that's when I started to freak out. The tubes up my nose were giving me oxygen, but I couldn't breathe. I tried to scream, I don't know why, but is was literally the worst thing I could have done. My throat, esophagus, and even my stomach were so fucked up. It hurt like hell, and I didn't know why. I just thought it was because of the tube, so I finally got my arms to move and I ripped it out."

Veronica cringed and winced, her own throat closing painfully at the thought. Heather snorted with a small smile, "Yeah, not smart. It felt worse than trying to scream, and this had the added bonus of blood. By the time the doctors got there I was vomiting blood everywhere and basically out of my mind. They had to sedate me and try to fix everything I fucked up. And I think they said I did it...four times after that? That's when they decided to put me in the coma. Woke up a month later with less tubes but still freaked out. They told me the panic attacks would stop, but they just kept happening. I'd wake up -- panic attack. They'd bring me food -- panic attack. Speech therapy -- panic attack. My family coming to visit -- at least they sedated me. It was never-ending, and no one could tell me why so I gave up trying to understand."

"PTSD." Veronica whispered. Heather looked over at her and she mentioned slowly, "I-I was like that for almost a year after...everything. I couldn't even leave my room without breaking down. My parents sent me to see a therapist and he told me it was because of PTSD. He just thought it was because I saw J.D. kill himself."

"And now?" Heather asked with a raised brow, "What caused this one?"

"I don't know." Veronica hesitantly lied.

"Was it Javier? Did he do something?"

"What? No, no he was fine."

"Did he say something?"

"No." Another lie.

Heather didn't look at Veronica as she asked, "Was it me?"

"N-no!" Veronica quickly answered. She scrambled to think of something to say, some sort of excuse or explanation, but all the came out was a meek, "I'm just...tired."

"Of being alone? That's what you told me last night." Veronica went quiet then and her brain seemed to flatline. She didn't know what to say now or what to do, not feeling overwhelmed like before but at a total loss. Heather huffed and folded her arms across her chest, "Look, I'm not great at this shit but I'm trying, okay? All that change bullshit and whatever. So...if you want to talk about it or whatever..."

Veronica felt disoriented by everything happening but managed to find her voice again. "But why? You hate me-- I did this to you; I-I don't understand."

"Because maybe I'm tired too!" Heather snapped. She slouched further into herself and her face pinched in a scowl that gradually softened into a look of defeat. "And why not. It's not like there's anyone else to talk to about all this crap."

Veronica considered her words and wanted to press for more.

 _'I'm tired too', what does that mean? Why now are you deciding to act like you care? Do you really, or is this just a game like the ones you played in high school that will put me under your thumb and you in control? Why have you decided that you want to change? What brought this about; what changed? Have you really? Can you really? Do I even want to trust you? Do I even want a friend? Do I even want_ you _as a friend?_

Her mouth opened but promptly shut again, stopping herself from verbally vomiting and possibly ruining this chance. _Heather's right,_ she admitted to herself, _there is no one alive who knows everything and could understand. No one except for her._

She shivered away a chill trying to ease down her spine and Veronica willed the racing thoughts way. Taking the advice given to her, she shut her brain down and instead said with a watery smile, "Thanks for breakfast. And for last night. And for...being here?" Heather still wouldn't look at her but hummed in acknowledgement. She seemed lost in thought, something that made Veronica want to worry that she said the wrong thing again. But her brain was off, so she pushed the worries aside and took a gentle step forward by saying, "I didn't know you could cook."

The blonde's eyes refocused and she sat up a little straighter and casually spoke. "I had to learn how; I couldn't live off of Eggos and powdered donuts forever. My father was barely home and when he was it was always catered dinner parties or fancy restaurants. Most of the recipes I know aren't that crazy, just cheap and easy stuff that tastes good."

Veronica frowned a little and asked, "What about your mom?" Heather's face pinched again and Veronica knew she had overstepped. She let an uneasy quiet settle between them for a few moments before trying again. "Know any good recipes for spaghetti?"

"Spaghetti?" Heather clarified with skepticism. 

"Yeah. It's been my favorite for as long as I can remember. My mom tried to show me how she makes it, but I can never get it to taste right."

"You're asking me how to boil water and then add pasta to it? _How_ are you messing that up?"

"I don't know! I like it with a lot of oregano, so maybe I'm adding too much or not enough or...it needs something?"

Heather snorted with a smirk and glanced over at her, "Oh, so you _do_ know what spices are? Careful, Veronica, you'll risk sounding _fancy._ "

Veronica flushed again but she smiled too and scoffed playfully. "You joke, but I swear there were things in my food last night that I had never heard of before. I had no idea we were going to such a fancy place."

"How _was_ dinner?" Heather asked while shifting to face Veronica and rest one arm across the back of the couch. She cocked a suspicious brow and added, "Did Javier behave himself for once in his life?"

"Dinner was good," Veronica sheepishly said, "and Javier was good too." Heather gave her a knowing smirk and Veronica scrambled over her words, "No I-- I didn't mean-- _not_ like that! He-he was...nice, is what I meant."

" _Suuure,_ Sawyer. Keep playing the blushing virgin when we both know you were practically eye-fucking him when you first met." The blonde reached for her glass of water and took a sip after mentioning offhand, "He is a good lay, though."

At that Veronica sputtered to a start and managed to whisper in a mixture of shock and despair. "Wait...you two have...w-when? What? I thought you didn't like him -- but you kept brushing him off at the café!"

"Lets just say that Javi and I are both _very_ well renowned sluts and leave it at that. I'm more interested in why he left in the first place."

Veronica shrugged in response and danced around the truth by saying, "I don't know...I guess I just wasn't what he was after. I'm all brains, remember? I don't have a lot else going for me."

Heather thought on this for a moment then stood and went to the kitchen to rummage through the bags she brought. Veronica craned her neck to watch her produce a small canvas tote and then return to the couch.

She sat closer to Veronica this time and dug through the tote, Veronica leaning over to try and see what was inside and then jerking back when Heather pulled a handful of different compacts out and looked at the brunette suddenly. Heather held a compact up near Veronica's face and grimaced, trying another one and then another one until she was down to two. Veronica felt another familiar memory rising at the concentrated look on Heather's face and sheepishly asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you are tragic." Heather replied simply while turning again and grabbing a brush from her bag. "I taught you how to use makeup and yet here you are, going on dates and not utilizing those skills? No wonder Javier didn't stay the night."

Veronica sagged a little and tried to think of a way to tell the truth without really explaining. "I'm just..." She started only to stop immediately.

"Just what, Sawyer?"

"Very okay?" Veronica offered lamely. She wasn't even sure where she was going with this but it was in the opposite direction of what actually happened so she kept going. "I'm not like you. I'm not a risk taker or a party girl or pretty. I honestly don't even know how I managed to get a date with a guy like him when he looks like that and I look like...well, like I said: 'very okay'."

Heather gripped Veronica's chin and moved her face around to study her with a scrutinizing look before opening her compact and taking the brush to it. "Oh shut up." Heather murmured as she carefully applied whatever this was to Veronica's face, "Helena Rubinstein once said that there are no ugly women, only lazy ones. And you definitely fit the bill for lazy."

"Helena who?" Veronica asked stiffly, afraid to move her face too much.

"Really? Helena Rubinstein? One of the world's first female self-made millionaires, immigrant philanthropist, marketing genius? God, I thought you were suppose to be smart." The blonde tilted Veronica's chin up to keep working and continued, "She is one of the most notable women in cosmetics. She and Elizabeth Arden are practically royalty for their advancements and contributions to the makeup world. They pioneered color theory in makeup and helped conceptualize a lot of formulas that are still used today. Arden is actually the reason why makeup got it's reputation for being the standard for a ladylike appearance. Before her it was only considered to be for prostitutes. She's also the reason why red lipstick became popularized among suffragettes in 1912."

Veronica carefully pushed Heather's hand away and looked at her in astonishment. "Uh....what? You say all of that like it's common knowledge; where the hell did you learn all of that?"

Heather scoffed and looked genuinely offended. "Wow, is the _nerd_ really telling me that she didn't pay attention in history class?"

"I'm pretty sure Mr. Hessner didn't go in depth about the history of makeup, nor do I think you would have paid attention long enough to know or care. No offense."

"Oh I take _full_ Goddamn offense. I'll have you know history was one of the only classes I actually participated in _and_ I got my undergraduate in history, so fuck you."

Veronica raised her eyebrows at that. "You didn't mention that before. I thought you were in law school?"

"I am, dickweed. I went to school in New York when I came back from my fuck-off years in Europe. You need a bachelor's degree to get into Harvard Law and I got mine in history. I also have an associates in psychology but who gives a shit about psychology."

"That is probably the last thing I ever expected from you. But to be completely honest, I still don't know what to expect from you. Why law, by the way?"

The compact was set aside and Heather drew closer with a very imposing eyeliner pencil. "Because it's impressive." Veronica tried to keep from blinking rapidly but failed immediately to Heather's annoyance. "And it's interesting. You wouldn't believe the amount of bullshit people get away with."

"I guess you'd be great at it too seeing as you're good at arguing. I bet you'd be great a putting crooks in jail."

"It's not arguing; that's a stereotype. It's being convincing. And I'm not hoping to become a criminal lawyer, I'm actually hoping to be a family lawyer."

"I take back what I said: _that_ is the last thing I expected from you. Any particular reason why?"

"Nope." Heather leaned back and observed her work for a moment, nodding to herself and getting out mascara next. "Are you done playing twenty-one questions or are you going to ask me what my favorite color is next?"

Veronica snorted and took the exasperated look she received for moving in stride. With a slight shrug she said, "I don't know, I think I already know the answer to that one." She thought back to all of their previous meetings and mentioned with a dawning realization, "I haven't actually seen you wear red at all since we met." Looking back, the only colors Veronica had seen Heather in were on the monochrome spectrum. 

Heather gracefully avoided what was said by offering her own observation. "I see you're still wearing a lot of blue. You're welcome, by the way, for showing you how good you look it in."

"I still have that blazer you bought me somewhere in my closet." Veronica told her with a nostalgic smile, "It's been through a lot, but it's still in pretty good condition. Still fits, too." Thinking about it actually, it was in a box in her closet with a lot of other items from high school. Her yearbook, her diploma, all of the photos she took over the summer, her old diaries, more clothes--

_I still have the scrunchie._

Her eyes widened at the revelation and she considered telling the blonde who continued the conversation. 

"I refuse to buy cheap clothes. My father used to tell me that appearance is everything, and you always have to show your best self." She snorted to herself and added, "It maybe the only thing he's ever been right about. But what's important is to remember to put on your best _face_ , too." Heather sat back and studied her work with scrutiny, an action that made Veronica feel small and mediocre. After a few more quick adjustments, Heather dropped her brushes into the bag and pulled out a hand mirror. "How's this for 'very okay'?"

Veronica tentatively took the mirror and lifted it to look at herself, immediately winded at her appearance. The dark circles under her eyes were completely gone, the spots of redness around her nose hidden away, her lashes long and thick and somehow making her eyes look bigger and brighter, the eyeliner accentuated her lashes, her skin smooth and flawless and tinted a pretty pink. "Holy shit..." She breathed as a hand instinctively came up to touch her cheek. There was a rush of adrenaline to her head that brought with it an amazed smile, a motion that she had experienced before.

And for maybe the first time, Veronica was reminded of her high school self without any of the immediate guilt or fears.

"How did you do this?" She asked in a rush, now grinning at the beautiful woman looking at her in the mirror. "This is...oh my God! Hah!"

Heather smirked in satisfaction and pushed the mirror down with a finger to have Veronica look at her. "I only used like five products in less than ten minutes; I guess Helena Rubinstein was right. _'Very okay'_ my ass, I _know_ I taught you better than that. You've got good bone structure and a nice cupid's bow, and for not trying at all your eyebrows aren't too shabby either. Do you think I would have made you my personal project in high school if I didn't think you were beautiful?"

Veronica shrugged lamely and replied, "I mean you showed me that I _could_ be but--"

"But nothing! And cut the 'could-be-woe-is-me' bullshit, Sawyer!" Heather poked a hard finger into Veronica's shoulder and told her in a serious voice, "You, Veronica Sawyer, are beautiful. You can have brains _and_ looks. And the sooner you figure out that you don't need a face full of make-up to feel like a million bucks the sooner you'll stop being so tragic."

Her smile came back slowly as a warmth bloomed in her chest and across her face at the validation. "Thanks, Heather." She murmured, "That actually means a lot coming from you."

For a brief second, Veronica could have sworn Heather's face started to soften but it instead went right back to that neutral look of general displeasure. "The fuck is that suppose to mean? This isn't high school, Sawyer, no need to fawn over me."

The reminder of high school had the brunette lurching off the couch and jogging into her bedroom. Veronica threw open her closet doors and started pulling unpacked boxes and bags of random shit out of the way, cursing herself for having so much clutter as she fought to find the purple plastic container. It finally came into view and she let out a victorious 'a-ha!' as she yanked it free of her closet and tore the lid off. Veronica dug past the worn papers and books and photographs until her fingers touched fabric and she pulled. 

The blazer was freed with a hard tug, one that definitely would have torn it if it were caught on something really heavy. Veronica held it out and considered it for a moment. It still had scorch marks on it and patches of dirt and dust. There was a small tear in the sleeve she hadn't noticed before, and a blood stain on the collar. 

For all of the bad memories that it brought, there was something almost welcoming about holding the blazer again. _Like an old friend,_ she thought with a little smile. Remembering what she came for, Veronica checked the pockets and grinned when she felt it.

Heather hadn't moved from the couch, instead sitting and studying her nails with a dull expression. She looked up when Veronica sat back down and had just begun to speak when the red scrunchie was held out. The words died on Heather's lips as she stared at one of her long lost accessories and Veronica jostled it slightly in an urge for her to take it. Heather looked past it and at Veronica, her face now full of hesitation.

"It's _really_ weird to see you without it." Veronica mentioned, "And as nice as the black one is, I think this one suits you more." She took it upon herself to reach out and place the scrunchie in the blonde woman's hand, purposefully making her fingers curl over it and nudging it closer.

Carefully, Heather retracted her hand and opened it to stare down at the red scrunchie. Her expression was unreadable as she timidly stroked her thumb along it, eventually closing it in her hand again and lowering her hand to her lap. Veronica waited for her to say something, but the longer the silence became the more it concerned her. Glancing down, she noticed the way Heather gently tapped her nails along her own thigh again. "Hey," She started to reach out and touch her arm, "are you--"

Heather stood just as Veronica touched her and balled her hands into fists. "Yeah." She replied stiffly, "Thanks." Without saying anything else, she grabbed her tote and school bag and made her way to the door. She tossed over her shoulder, "Keep the junk food in the kitchen. And call Javier."

The door shut and Veronica watched it like it'd open again, shivering at a suddenly chill that over took her. She waited for something to happen for a few minutes before resigning herself to get up and lock the door. She meandered into the kitchen and dumped the contents of the remaining bags on the counter, taking stock of the candies and chips that were left for her. Two things specifically caught her eye: a pack of corn nuts and a Jiffy Pop.

For all of the whiplash and confusion of the day, Veronica set the two things aside and walked to her desk to open her journal. She was already thinking of what she should write before she even sat down but as she sat and opened the journal everything left her mind save for one thought.

_'Dear Diary, I think I'm ready to stop wallowing in the misery and bad choices. I think I'm ready to stop being so tragic. And I think I do want a friend, and I think she might want one too.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallo!! happy new year! i am back from my holiday and feeling ENERGIZED! but i'm also feeling the worst case of writer's block ლ(¯ロ¯"ლ) so i actually wrote the middle part of this chapter before i left and came back and had to figure out the beginning and the end and i H A T E the end but i don't know how else to end it so weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! you guuuuyys, i want to skip straight into the good parts of the story and not think have to write all this build up ٩(× ×)۶ but i can't without throwing away a lot of plot points as well as character development! speaking of which: remember how i said that things would start lookin' up for our two leadin' ladies?
> 
> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_ so i may have lied about that. BUT, i promise they're making progress and getting there!! this is very much a one step forward and two steps back kind of situation and i know it can be frustrating -- it's even frustrating to write sometimes! and yet i continue to do it anyways because i apparently enjoy pain ♡( ◡‿◡ ) annyyyways, thanks fer readin and commenting and such!! it means a lot to me and i love you all!! (p.s., ABBA even has a song called 'Happy New Year'!! it'll be a chapter title...later. muuuuch later)


	8. I'm a Marionette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like a doll, like a puppet with no will at all  
>  And somebody taught me how to talk, how to walk, how to fall  
> Can't complain, I've got no one but myself to blame  
> Something's happening, I can't control, lost my hold, is it safe?  
>  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to heavily warn you before this chapter that there are very sensitive and triggering subject matter and references throughout. If you are effected by any of the following, _please_ considering skipping this chapter:
> 
> Alcoholism  
> Bulimia  
> Child Abuse  
> Self Harm  
> Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation
> 
> If you would like to proceed anyways, please be mindful and know that you are here, I am here, and I care about you. We may not know each other, but the beauty of being a human being is that we don't need to know each other to care for one another. And please believe me when I say I care very much. Be safe, take care of yourself, and remember that I love you. -Q

She had been avoiding public spaces for four days, going on the fifth day now. Every time she'd wake up there would be that angry voice in the back of her head screaming at her to get up, that there were more important things to do than lay in bed and wallow in misery.

_Like you even have a good excuse to be miserable._ Her mind would hiss, _You're absolutely pathetic to think that you have any right to feel this way. Get out of the damn bed, you've got better shit to do._

It took effort to sit up and touch her feet to the cold floor. There was something almost relieving at having her feet on solid ground and she mistakenly took it as a sign that she'd be okay. She quickly learned that no, she would not be, as a sudden nausea overtook her along with a rush of light-headedness. 

_The consequences of being a brain dead vegetable for nearly a week._ The cruel voice in her mind told her.

Her hand instinctually reached for the nightstand to steady herself and she nearly flinched at the soft fabric she touched. The rolling of her stomach grew dangerous as she carefully picked the scrunchie up to look at it in the dim light, studying the worn and fraying edges and letting a familiar sense of guilt overcome her.

Heather squeezed her eyes shut as if it would help prevent the onslaught of regrettable memories that assaulted her mind's eye. It did little to help, visions of her past mistakes swirling through her mind. It wasn't until she began digging her nails into her thigh that they began to fade away, and even after her mind was clear she continued to gouge herself. She had to make sure that she was really awake, that this was real, that she was here.

Gradually she released the now stinging flesh and forced herself to move out of the bedroom. Heather paused at the bathroom door to debate if she should give into the nausea and just be sick to get it over with.

She turned into the doorway but paused at another memory lurching forward.

_"Jesus Christ, what are you? A lard-ass?" Heather scoffed._

_Heather Duke's hand stopped halfway to her mouth with a tortilla chip covered in cheese and looked at her like a deer in headlights. "W-what?"_

_"If I had known you were going to eat half of the fucking food all by yourself I would have ordered more." Heather then sighed with resignation and added, "I guess Heather will just have to wait when she gets here since you ate her share too." They sat in a tense silence until Heather McNamara arrived, cheerful as always and nonplussed at having to wait for more food. When it arrived, Heather couldn't resist smirking slyly and saying to Heather McNamara in a sweet voice, "You should share some with Heather, she seems absolutely famished."_

_At that Heather Duke shot out of her chair, cheeks a dark pink and eyes brimming with tears. "I-I'll be right back." She tried to sound not as hurt and failed, something else Heather felt satisfaction at. She was just too easy. Like clock-work, predictable and inevitable, Heather could hammer her further into the ground and relish in it. It felt like justice almost, watching Heather Duke go from being a painfully average, smart-ass teenage girl to a sniveling mess on the bathroom floor. Maybe now she'd think twice before she whined about how much better Heather's life was than her own because it was only taken as a challenge._

_Heather couldn't just be better. She had to be more. She had to be_ perfect. _And if she were to be then there couldn't be anyone else that could come close._

_And she'd do whatever it took to be the one standing above the rest, to be the one worth more._

_"Grow up, Heather. Bulimia's_ so _'87."_

The nails went into her bicep next and stayed there as she made her way through the living area without flipping the lights. Heather stepped over the cleats that were left in the middle of the floor and bristled at the fact that Christian couldn't be bothered to put them on the damn shoe rack by the door. She glared at the duffle bag with the rest of his baseball gear and considered grabbing the wooden bat and taking it to the walls and windows just to release some tension. But, knowing her luck, she'd swing and crack her own skull open on accident.

The sickness was beginning to give way to a hollow ache as her legs took her into the kitchen to stare inside the refrigerator. None of the food looked or sounded appealing but the nagging voice pestered her to eat anyway.

_You need to eat. God, you're turning into the reverse Duke--_

Heather growled to herself and habitually reached inside to grab a bottle of whatever shitty beer Christian had purchased this week and used the counter to take the cap off with practiced ease. Half of it was gone within seconds so she reached for another then kicked the door shut and stalked back to the loveseat. The remote to the television rested on the arm beside her but she didn't bother with it, too preoccupied with finishing off her first drink. Heather wasn't by any means a lightweight, but the combined efforts of having an empty stomach and still feeling slightly hungover from last night had her already feeling the effects. 

_Thank God._ She thought to herself while opening the second bottle. Nowadays it seemed like alcohol is all that made the stupid and fucked up parts of her brain shut down. Heather knew it was bad, that she was in way too deep now with it, but she also didn't care anymore. She'd rather be brainless and drunk than be a fucking wreck.

_Hah! Like you're not a fucking wreck now? Be honest with yourself. You'd actually rather be--_

"Fuck off." She told the air. Even if she stopped her mind from voicing the thought, it still brought chills to her arms and a weight to her stomach. Her chest heaved with a breath too thick for comfort and Heather grit her teeth at her own body betraying her.

The nails moved under her shirt to her shoulder.

The way her arm crossed her body brought an almost comforting warmth. It was enough for her to loosen the grip on herself and instead focus on the sort of self-hug. Heather closed her eyes and wondered if she could pretend hard enough that it was her uncle hugging her.

Her eyes instantly watered at the thought of him and she yearned for him to be here. 

Her mind was kind to her in that moment, reminding her of the hot summers spent at his house playing in the yard and the heart-racing rides through backroads on his motorcycle. She smiled to herself at the memory of him holding her hand and taking her trick-or-treating back in '81. He had gone above and beyond to make them matching costumes that year and Heather could never forget how happy she was. Her uncle and his childish grin and endless jokes, his talent at flipping pancakes in the pan and the concentration on his face when he tried putting makeup on her for the first time.

The almost teary-eyed look he had when he gave her the Walkman and kissed her on the cheek good-bye.

Heather lifted her face up to stop any tears from spilling and quietly cursed at herself for having them. With a few practiced deep breaths, she reigned the tears and emotions in and forced herself to take another long sip of her drink. She wasn't drunk enough to be like this just yet.

A third and fourth drink were retrieved and it was then that Heather realized she still had the scrunching in a death grip.

She glared at the thing and let Veronica's words repeat.

_'I think this one suits you more.'_

Heather hated this fucking scrunchie.

It was the catalyst for all of the fucked up dreams, the random flashes and visions, the unwavering agony in her chest. She thought she was passed all of this bullshit and yet here she sits -- rendered an emotional wreck by a wad of fabric and elastic. And all because she tried to be _nice?_ If these were the spoils she could expect from trying to be _nice,_ then she'd rather go down as being the cruel bitch everyone already thought her to be. But why the fuck was she even trying to be nice in the first place? When has she ever gone out of her way to help someone to that extreme? And why? 

She should have dumped Veronica on the couch and left without looking back. She should have stayed at home that morning. She shouldn't have told the things she told.

Another piece of her father's advice she should have listened to: _'Keep your cards close to your chest and never say more than what you're asked.'._

The pen and the perfume were suppose to be a curtesy for the phone number, nothing more and nothing less. Heather wanted to be done with everything after that, she wanted to ignore the growing ache in her chest and ignore the urge to scream out everything that was stuck inside her throat. She wanted things to go back to the way they were because no matter how mediocre they may have been they were better than whatever the hell was happening to her now.

_All of this upset, all of these stupid thoughts, all of this bullshit -- all because of one person? All because Veronica Sawyer comes barging back into my life like she's Mother-fucking-Theresa, spouting shit about 'second chances' and 'change' and 'good people'? And all for what -- so she can feel better about herself? So she can stop feeling guilty?_ Heather knocked back the rest of her third drink and slammed it on the coffee table. 

_No, so she can keep excusing that psychotic Dean bastard._ The cruel voice was back but Heather let it continue this time. _He practically worshipped the ground she walked on, he killed for her --_ because _of her -- and he still gets remembered fondly? All because he was...how did she put it? Damaged? Because his mommy killed herself and his daddy was fond of the belt? What a fucking joke..._

Heather lifted her fourth beer to her lips but didn't drink from it just yet. She could remember the sincere look on Veronica's face as she admitted that Jason Dean ruined her life too, and for a moment it almost gave her reason to pause.

But then she was reminded of the sincere animosity on Veronica's face as she declared that she wished Heather died.

_I should have thrown her off the Goddamn fire escape._ Heather lamented bitterly with a drink. 

Truthfully, she hadn't expected herself to do the things she did on the fire escape. And she could tell herself that she wished she had gone through with it or done more, but the fear that stopped her from doing it then was still powerful enough to make her shudder now. As good as she knew it would feel to have that revenge, the last thing she wanted to do was take the final steps in becoming a total monster. Heather couldn't bring herself to make those last few feet to falling off the deep end. As lenient as it were, her conscious wasn't entirely free enough to commit murder just to make herself feel better.

_But maybe then Veronica would get it. Do the exact same thing Jason Dean did; kill someone for the hell of it and blame shitty parents. Show her how much of a fucking hypocrite she is. Tell her society made me do it._

Heather's gaze wandered to the baseball bat and the itch to take it and swing at something came back. She could only chuckle and take a swig of her beer while thinking, _Maybe this is exactly how the son of a bitch became the way he did. Maybe he had the right idea._

Involuntarily, her throat closed itself and she choked on her drink. The primal fear that ripped through her was enough to make her drop the nearly empty bottle and grip her neck with both hands as if she could tear it open. It burned in an ungodly way that nothing should burn like and Heather forced herself to keep her eyes open to stare at her apartment. Her eyes darted to different objects as she tried to make a list of the things she could see like the doctors told her, but her body was on fire now and she couldn't focus on anything other than pain.

She blinked and could see the red of her bedroom behind her eyelids. She could feel the frothy, purpling vomit of drain cleaner and blood trying to come up and stumbled to her feet. Heather's foot hit the coffee table and she fell to her knee. She was shaking now and let her vision fade from the lack of air as she continued to suffocate. Heather caught herself just before her head hit the floor and dragged herself forward with a soundless sob. She reached the kitchen and pulled herself up using the counter, leaning against it and searching for something to help her escape this nightmare.

Her nails tore into her thigh again, but she continued to choke. Heather's hands scrambled across the counter and grabbed the first things they touched -- a dish rag and her lighter. Dropping the dish rag to the floor, Heather tried the lighter in a frenzy to try and get a spark before she ended up on the floor again.

The instant it caught she touched it to the palm of her hand and cried out at the pain. She gasped in air and reveled in her brain zeroing in on the searing flesh of her hand and not the phantom agony in her mouth and throat. Even after the moment passed, she kept the lighter to her hand and forced herself to not recoil from it. She had to be certain that there would be no more before she stopped.

Heather finally dropped the lighter and gripped her wrist, letting herself hunch over and whimper at the wound. She was still shaking as she turned on the sink and thrust her hand under the water, a whole new kind of pain shooting up her arm and making her cry out. Already being light-headed wasn't helping her body's urge to pass out but she fought against it viciously and threatened herself with the lighter again just to stay awake.

It throbbed after she turned off the faucet but it was a welcome distraction from the mounting anxiety. The apartment was too quiet now and the darker corners felt like they were growing darker by the minute. Delirious from drink and damage, Heather swayed her way to the landline and was pressing the buttons without a second thought.

"Please pick up..." She moaned pathetically while putting all of her weight on one leg and letting the wall hold her up. The line rang and rang until it asked her to leave a message. Usually when it reached this point she would just hang up but some idiotic part of her brain told her to speak so she did.

"Hey Javi," She started out stronger than she anticipated, "you're probably out with someone or sleeping or...stuff. Christian's out for the night for whatever so you could come over and we could watch a movie or something. I-I could make dinner..." Heather's voice shattered with an uncontrollable sob and she instinctively slapped a hand over her mouth to try and silence herself. "I-I...I could u-use some com-mpany." She cried, "I'm sorry to bother yo-ou. Just forget I called." 

She hung the receiver up and slid down the wall to the floor. Her hands covered her face in attempts to continue hiding her tears and she made a few futile attempts to wipe her nose. On one of the passes Heather touched her cheek and could almost feel the sting of her father's hand across her face from the first time she cried in front of him.

_Easter. '82. Heather fought and threw fits all the way to the venue. She didn't care about the pretty dress her father bought her or that she was messing up her hair that took the hairdresser two hours. She didn't want to have to pretend to get along with her nasty cousins and listen to her father's family talk business and politics and down at her. Heather just wanted to go home and hide in her room and listen to her Walkman._

_Her father found her hiding during the egg hunt and dragged her back inside. For all of his angry words about not causing a scene and not embarrassing him in front of his family, Heather wondered why he brought her back inside in front of all of them. He told her to stop crying but she just couldn't, and that's when he slapped her. It was enough to stun her into silence and deafness. Her father was still lecturing her but she couldn't hear him, but she could see the way her relatives either looked away or just snickered. The last thing her father told her put a hole through her chest._

_'We don't cry, Heather. Crying is pathetic and worthless. Do you want to be pathetic and worthless? Do you want to be an improper young lady? Do you want people to pity you?'_

_'Do you want to end up like your mother?'_

It was stupid -- _she felt stupid_ \-- for still trying to obscure herself from the world even when she was alone but it was impulsive. Heather rubbed furiously at her eyes to try and get them to stop leaking but the ruthless part of her mind's laughter and jeers made it difficult to stop.

_Stupid. Pathetic. Worthless._ Heather told herself. _Demon. Hellion. Bitch. Slut. Incapable. Emotional Wreck. Improper. Stupid. Pathetic. Worthless._

The tears finally stopped but not without one last parting truth.

_"You deserved every bit of what happened and I wish you actually died!"_

"No." She said, "I don't. I don't wish that."

_Yes you do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No kawaii emojis this time. This was a very hard chapter to write but it's one that I actually started a while ago. I knew from the very early stages of this fic that I wanted to sneak in a few Heather-centric chapters and for a while it was even going to rotate between her and Veronica's POV. But I decided to scrap that idea because in both media's Veronica is the audience's guiding point and I'd like to keep it that way. It's for that reason that I struggled with actually putting this chapter in (that and due to subject matter). I decided to finish this chapter and put it in officially for two reasons: 1.) There are some plot points in the future that I would hate to have to give total exposition dumps for. They are inevitable, but I would like to limit them as much as I can. 2.) I backed myself into a corner with the last chapter. I already said that I had a difficult time ending it and it's definitely the weakest chapter in my opinion. I may very well go back and rewrite it, but that is for a much later date. This is to try and help push the story back in the direction I intended for it to go, I.E. - back into the 'frenemies' zone.
> 
> With all of that being said: go make a cup of tea and eat some chocolate. Watch some cute baby seal videos, light a candle, take a nice hot bath or shower. Take care of yourself. This past year has been one heck of a ride and has been very hard. But you made it to this point and I'm proud of you for that! There's a great quote from Undertale that says, 'Despite everything, it's still you' and I try and remember that when the goings get rough. Everything you do, from what seems like the most insignificant thing to what makes you feel like you're on top of the world -- it's all such a wonder. It's taken me many years to learn this and I still struggle to remember it, but I promise you it's worth remembering. And remember that _you_ are a wonder, too. You have so much inside you to love, the good and the bad, and you should never feel ashamed or embarrassed for any of it. Love it all, love _you_ , because the world only has one you. And if you're feeling lost or afraid, know that I've felt that too. I still do. But I promise you, the world is far bigger and brighter and more wonderful than it's made out to be. There's so much beauty in this world and so much life, just as there is so much beauty and so much life in you.
> 
> Thank you, I love you, and I'll see you soon <3


	9. The Way Old Friends Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You and I can share the silence  
>  Finding comfort together  
> The way old friends do  
> And after fights and words of violence  
> We make up with each other  
> The way old friends do  
> Times of joy and times of sorrow  
> We will always see it through  
> Oh, I don't care what comes tomorrow  
> We can face it together  
> The way old friends do_  
> 

Veronica felt better than she had in years. She tipped a little extra when purchasing her breakfast, she gave up her seat on the bus for someone, she even held the door open for the Pen-Thieving-Asshole and asked him how his weekend was. 

The nightmares weren't there last night. The chills and watched feeling were gone. There was a weight off her chest that made her feel lighter than air. It felt like she could finally breathe again; it felt like freedom. Like a second chance.

 _It really is a second chance,_ Veronica thought to herself as she worked with a smile, _and a chance to be honest for a change._

She went home that night and marched straight to Heather's apartment to knock happily on her door.

"Hey, it's me!" She called through the door, "One of the guys from the office said there's a movie marathon on tonight and I wanted to see if you were interested! We could order a pizza or something!" She waited for a response before knocking a little louder. "Hello? Heather? It's Veronica!" Her smile drooped into a frown but she kept knocking.

"You know it's unlocked, right?"

The deep voice coming from behind her made her gasp and leap away. Veronica whipped around to see Christian already loosening his tie and shedding his suit jacket while looking wholly unimpressed with her antics. They seemed to study each other for a moment until Christian stepped forward and proved his point by opening the door without a key. Veronica watched him step inside the dark apartment and flick the light on. He craned his neck to look in the kitchen before turning to face the hall and calling, "Babe? Your friend's here." He didn't really react to the silence and told Veronica with shrug, "She's probably still not home."

"Oh." Veronica started to deflate but caught herself and asked, "Wait, I thought finals were over and school let out for the summer?"

Christian nodded and tossed his tie and jacket to the loveseat. "It did, but that doesn't mean Heather will stop disappearing randomly. She left late last night and she wasn't here when I left for work so...she's probably out doing whatever."

Veronica gaped at him. "You don't know where she is? And you're not worried that she hasn't been here since last night?"

He shrugged and leaned against the doorframe while staring down at her. "I never ask, she never tells and vice versa. She does this all the time; she always comes back."

Her mind couldn't help but overload with thoughts at the information and she struggled to keep them inside her mouth. Trying to clear space for a cohesive sentence, Veronica stuttered and stumbled over her words, starting and stopping while still trying to gather her thoughts.

Christian watched her plight and sighed out of his nose. "Let's be honest here: you've seen me enough times at the payphone to know that we tend to keep things... _flexible,_ between us. She's probably out with whoever catch of the day is and when she comes back I won't question."

"A-and you're just okay with that?!"

"Considering I do the same, yes; I suppose it's only fair. Don't act so scandalized, Veronica. It's a common for couples to seek others out for the things your significant other can't fix -- I honestly don't know anyone who hasn't gone through a rough patch like this. All that matters is that at the end of day she'll be back because she's my girl. She can spend her time with whoever and doing whatever, but she walks through that door and none of it matters because she's mine and only mine." He then mentioned off-hand, "You'd probably understand more if you weren't living like a spinster."

Veronica grit her teeth and fought the urge to stomp on his stupidly expensive looking loafers for everything that just left his mouth. She managed to grind out a curt, "Let me know when she gets back."

Christian waved her off and mentioned, "Don't count on it; I'm leaving for a business trip in the morning." before closing the door and leaving Veronica to stomp back to her apartment and try to salvage her good mood. 

Once home and out of her work clothes, her smile came back as she picked up her landline and dialed for Martha. They chat for a while about their days and current events, Veronica told her about the panic attack and Heather and Martha seemed surprised yet impressed with how the situation went.

"So you apologized for saying all of that really bad stuff?" Veronica hesitated for a little too long and Martha's 'mom-voice' came out with a stern, "Veronica..."

"I-I mean I think I have? It's kind of hard to keep track of what I've apologized for and in what context or remembering if I was being sarcastic or not. Plus -- _plus,_ nine times out of ten she cuts me off and tells me to shut up so...that's gotta count, right?"

"I don't think it does, Ronnie." Martha then sighed and admitted, "But I also don't know what it's like to be friends with Heather Chandler so that could just be her way of saying 'apology accepted' I guess."

"Oh! Speaking of friends with Heather, do you still have Heather's phone number? I kind of gave it to Heather so they could catch up and I didn't think to write it down."

Martha paused and slowly clarified, "So you gave McNamara's phone number to Chandler and now you need McNamara's number again? Sorry, I still can't really tell who's who when you refer to them both as just 'Heather'."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Veronica laughed, "telling the Heathers apart using only their first names is like speaking Latin. You either learn the hard way or you get possessed by a demon."

Phone number in hand again, Martha advised her to wait until the following weekend to contact Heather McNamara before they bid each other good-bye and hung up. Veronica bit at the inside of her cheek and toyed with the phone before committing and dialing again.

Javier picked up on the second ring with a cheerful, "Hello, hello!"

"Hey, it's Veronica. Sorry if I'm interrupting. I was just wondering how your day was and thought I'd call."

"Don't apologize! I was actually thinking about calling you -- I wanted to apologize for Friday night."

Veronica flushed at the mention of the sudden end to their evening and rushed out, "No, no please don't. It really wasn't your fault or anything you did or--"

"You can say that as much as you'd like, but it won't mean I'll stop wondering or worrying." Javier hummed for a moment then said with a slight wince, "I'm sure you've heard of my...reputation, and I completely understand if it's off-putting or not what you're looking for."

"I may have heard some things," Veronica grimaced at the thought of Javier and Heather...and quickly removed it from her mind and continued, "but I'm not the type of person to listen to gossip."

"Then I'll tell you directly: I am exactly as the gossip says. I prefer to think of myself as a romantic... _but_ the term 'player' is more honest. I just wanted to make sure you were aware."

Veronica put her back against the wall and thumbed at the cord. "That's...that's okay? I'm sorry, I'm just a little confused about where you're going with this."

Javier paused then said slowly, "I would hate to disappoint you and give you false hopes, and I was worried that I did and it caused what happened."

"False hopes of what exactly?"

"I...well, this is awkward. I will be blunt -- I am not good with relationships. Ones that are meant to last, that is."

Veronica could feel herself deflating as he spoke and she numbly said, "That was suppose to be a one night stand."

"No! No, Veronica -- please, I promise you that was not my intention. I enjoy spending time with you, you are intelligent and witty and you deserve better than a one night stand. And, in turn, you deserve better than me. I don't want to lead you on and make you think that I will be a good boyfriend or lover when I don't think myself to be one."

"Because you're a player?"

Javier audibly cringed and let out a little sigh. "Veronica, you seem to have a lot on your mind right now and I don't want to exacerbate it or make it worse. No worse than I did on Friday. And to be truthful, I'm also going through some things right now. It's complicated and I don't want to drag you along while I'm still figuring it out."

Veronica thumped her head against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. "Javi, just be honest with me: is it because I made you leave?"

"I promise you it isn't. I..." He sighed again then admitted, "I care great deal about you, really I do, but there's someone else I also care a great deal about."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Veronica. I do like you and I do want a second date if you'd allow it, but I can't ignore how I feel and risk hurting both of us. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"It's okay, I get it." Veronica tried to make her tone light-hearted as she said, "She must be pretty special."

"She is. But so are you. I understand if you would feel too awkward but I would love to continue our conversations. You're one of a kind, Veronica Sawyer, and I would hate to be without you."

He was trying to soften the blow and she knew it, but Veronica could still feel her heart tearing. She tried cursed her own tainted memory and the ghosts that haunted her for doing this but in the end could only blame herself for ruining what could have been great. "Well," She softly replied, "you always have my number. And I'm always happy to talk books."

"I'm glad to hear that. Maybe we could get a coffee some time this week and pick up where we left off? I think we made it to Mark Twain?"

"Yeah...color me stoked."

They hung up and Veronica hit her forehead against the wall with a pitiful groan. _Self-sabotage: forty-eight. Veronica: zero._ She lamented. 

She went to bed that night in defeat but woke up early the next morning ready to try again. This time she bought an extra donut and coffee and marched back upstairs to try knocking on Heather's door again.

"Heather? I don't know if you're back but I brought you some breakfast!" Veronica paused for a response and didn't receive one. "I heard Christian's gone on a business trip! I bet you're looking forward to the peace and quiet!" She waited again and sighed to herself at the continued silence. "Well, I've gotta get to work. I'm just gonna...leave this out here if you want it. I'll see you tonight....maybe."

Work came and went, Veronica returned to the door again, and the silence was still all she got. She could see light creeping from underneath the door and knew Heather had to be home, but no matter how much she knocked or how loud she called nothing changed. It was both concerning and frustrating, and Veronica couldn't help but feel very disheartened at being right back to square one. It really felt like they had gotten somewhere over the weekend. 

_Clearly not._ Veronica thought bitterly to herself after the third day of radio silence. She tried not to overthink the situation but her brain never listened to her before and wasn't about to start now. She considered everything she had said and couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was that pushed Heather away this time. They had a seemingly neutral conversation and Veronica hadn't pressed the things that made Heather shy away, so what had happened? The tired side of her told her it was just Heather being Heather, cryptic and aloof and unwilling to share what she was thinking unless it was less than pleasant. 

_But she said she was tired of not having someone to talk to. Why would she turn around and start ignore me now? Was she just saying that to make me feel better? But why? I still don't even understand why she helped me or came back._ Veronica slouched onto her bed at the end of the day and rubbed her face. _Maybe I just need to wait for her to come to me. If she even will considering I did something to piss her off again. God, why can't she just tell me? It'd make all of this so much easier..._

But she wouldn't be Heather Chandler if she made things easy, this much Veronica knew hadn't changed since high school. _Maybe I was right before and she just wants to use me again. Idiot! I'm a total idiot for thinking that she'd actually be genuine with me for once in her life!_

There was a strange sense of loneliness and longing as three days turned to four, then five, a full week going by at a snail's pace and without change. Each night, Veronica would sit up a little later than usual and make her way out to the fire escape. Sometimes for a quick puff but mostly to peak out the door in hopes of seeing a familiar strawberry-blonde smoking like a chimney. The space would be vacant, but the lingering smell of smoke and ash meant that Heather had definitely been there. After her excursions out, Veronica would return to her apartment and sit in the dark of her bedroom lost in thought. 

The last thing that happened was her giving Heather the scrunchie back and was the only thing Veronica could think of that might cause this. Maybe giving it back to her wasn't such a great idea in hindsight, but she truly meant no harm by it. She just thought that Heather might appreciate having back her most favored accessory and might consider wearing it again. Veronica wasn't joking when she said it was weird seeing her without it. Seeing Heather Chandler without a hint of red on her felt alien and wrong. The lack of any real color whatsoever put Veronica off and she didn't know if it was intentional or if she was putting too much thought into it.

She turned a lamp on and left her bed then to drag the purple plastic container back out. Her old blazer sat on top of the mess of items and she held it up to study it, familiarizing herself with it's timeworn edges and sporadic tears or stains. For all they had both been through during their last time together, there were still good memories Veronica didn't want to forget attached to it. It still had a fond place in her heart and memory she didn't want to let go of.

Veronica delicately folded it and set it aside to look through the tub. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of a familiar box and she brought it into her lap. The old shoe box was practically falling apart, but the pictures it contained were still pristine and perfect. She looked through them with a wistful smile, studying the youthful faces of old friends and classmates and remembering the moments when they were taken. She flipped through and a sense of longing overcame her at the next photograph.

It was one her mother had taken of all four of them, something to remember their first afternoon croquet game by. Heather McNamara stood to the left and had her mallet rested against one shoulder with a bright smile. Heather Duke had been mid-shot and was half-turned away, glancing at the camera from the background with a concentrated pout. Veronica's mallet was across both of her shoulders and she stood center with a half-hearted smirk. To the right and standing with her typical apathetic, blank expression, Heather Chandler clearly turned her head away from the camera and seemed to be looking to something just out of shot. It was a quintessential reminder of who the Heathers were.

Veronica placed that one aside for later and caught sight of a thin strip of film, grasping it quickly and bringing it closer. It was only three photos, but every single one filled Veronica with bittersweetness.

The first one, only she smiled. Heather was mid-eyeroll no doubt from being dragged into the photo booth in the first place. The second one they were both side-eying each other with similar looks of annoyance towards the one another. The last one, they were both laughing. Veronica was doubled over slightly while holding onto Heather's arm and Heather leaned into Veronica with a wide grin. 

It was as off-putting as it was nostalgic. They both looked so carefree, so happy, so _normal._ Like average teenage girls on a trip to the mall, like two best friends sharing an inside joke. Thinking back on it now, she didn't think she had ever seen Heather smile like that. Everything about Heather Chandler was always calculated and guarded, but this was honest and unfiltered. Veronica hadn't noticed the vulnerability Heather was showing in the moment until now. 

It made her overthinking and regrets sting worse. Veronica let J.D.'s anger and poison infect her to the point that she stopped thinking that Heather was anything more than a piranha, that she deserved what happened to her, that she deserved to _die._ It shook Veronica to her core to think that it took until now to realize how awful she had been. Not after meeting the woman she tortured ten years later, but after seeing the girl she was before in a picture -- the girl that she could have still been if not for Veronica.

A girl that was willing to take a chance on a faceless nobody and make her untouchable. A girl that risked her own status, who shared her spot at the top of the food chain, who would snap and fight for her if people tried anything. A girl that made her beautiful and then showed her she always could be.

It put a hurt so deep in her chest that it took her breath away. Maybe she truly considered Veronica her friend, and Veronica repaid her by puking on her shoes and then almost killing her. In her own backwards, questionable way, maybe Heather Chandler _had_ cared about her.

_Right?_

Veronica carried the photograph with her to her desk in the living area, carefully taking a pushpin and adding it to her corkboard of important information and brainstorming ideas. She scoot her chair forward and opened her journal, lifting her pen and beginning to write.

_'Dear diary, I don't know what I'm doing anymore. It seems like every time I try I just get punted back into the ditch like an empty soda can. Try to be a better person, say a bunch of stupid and cruel shit. Try and have a relationship, scare him off by being a total nutcase. Try and be friends with Heather, get eaten alive or completely ignored. I want to ask when my life got so complicated, but I don't think it's ever not been. It's just one long running gag, one where I get pelted with rotten tomatoes and vicious mockery.'_

_'Heather once told me that she teaches people real life. It's been so long that I can't remember what her exact words were, but I know it had something to do with learning how to fly or being sucked dry. I'm sure it was a lot more poetic than that. Whatever it was, I can't help but wonder if this is her way of teaching me that lesson again. I don't know why I keep trying so hard when she clearly wants me dead. I mean, she did try to kill me. But then why did she turn around a week later and help me? I don't understand her at all. Maybe that's the poetry: life is complicated and therefore so must be Heather Chandler. I'm just not sure which one I'm more tired of.'_

_'I can't keep ruining my pride. I've embarrassed myself in front of her practically every time we've been together since junior year. There's only so much I can do before I go crazy. I've got to suck it up, or I'm never going to fly. Maybe that's what Heather meant. I used to think I needed to stop Heather, but now I just want her to start. I used to think she was the Wicked Witch of the West, but maybe she's the East and I'm the West. And instead of dropping a house on her and stealing her shoes, I made her drink drain cleaner and stole her scrunchie.'_

_'I used to dream of a world without Heather Chandler, but now I can't even remember how I could make it through a day without wanting to collapse from guilt. I used to think that a world without her was a world where I could be free, but I realize now that that wasn't freedom. It was being comfortable with how much of a bitch I was, how wrong I was, and how stupid I was. I thought if I ignored all of my problems and no one was around to acknowledge them, I'd be okay. If a teenage girl drinks poison in forest and there's nobody around, does she make a sound? I've gotten so used to acting like everything is fine and cool that I put up my dukes the minute Heather snaps at me. It's wrong and I'm acting stupid and like a bitch, but now that I realize that she's not even around to hear me say it.'_

_'Maybe that's why we were such good friends. We're more alike than we know it. Now I can only dream of a world where we might go back to that. One where we can be seventeen again.'_

She set the pen aside and looked at the photos of them. It took effort for Veronica to close her journal and leave them behind, not yet ready to stop her pity-party even though the hunger pains in her stomach said otherwise. 

Throwing on her shoes and a sweater, Veronica ventured out of her apartment and down the street in search of food. The nearest McDonalds had always been her go-to for a quick meal and it was getting to the point where the kid working the register recognized her and knew her order. She tried not to mind being the weird woman who ate burgers three times a week, but every time she'd come in and he'd call her by name she would promise herself to stop eating fast food so much.

She ate and left quickly, strolling back to her apartment building and taking in the ambience of her little corner of Boston at night. Some remaining college kids were huddled together and obviously drunk, a sporadic dog-walker would brush past her and beg their furry friend not to sniff at her ankles, people walking briskly and speaking loudly into their cellphones would sometimes knock her shoulders -- some apologizing and some ignore her entirely. The odd couple would walk by arm in arm, laughing and lost in their own little bubble that couldn't be broken by Veronica's bitter stares.

The doors to the apartment building creaked as they opened and she noted a few people in the laundry room doing some last minute washes. She would offer kind smiles and little waves to them as she walked by on her way to the elevators, finding a family waiting for the sole working elevator to return. When it did, they motioned for her to join them but she politely declined the offer. She didn't want to have to make too much small-talk, far too mentally drained to focus at the moment, and would rather get the elevator to herself if she could.

The wait wasn't too bad and when it returned it was blissfully empty. Veronica stepped inside and pressed the button for her floor, ready to step back when a voice called from the hall.

"Wait, hold the door."

 _So much for not being forced to interact with people._ She thought bitterly while accepting her fate. _Might as well act like a kind, functioning human._ Veronica leaned forward and used a hand to stop the elevator door from closing, already putting on her friendliest smile for her soon-to-be company.

It was gone the instant Heather came into view as an intense sense of unease jolted through her body, but it was for a completely different reason than she expected.

The other woman looked disheveled to the ninth degree; her hair losing it's styled curls for more natural and frizzy waves, her clothes clearly slept in and heavily creased, yesterday's makeup mostly wiped off but still lingering in some places. What truly caught Veronica's attention the most was also what made her stomach sink: Heather's eyes were bloodshot and outlined by a bright red. Heather had been _crying._

Everything hit Veronica in only a few seconds, enough time for Heather to glare at her and step into the elevator to lean herself against the wall.

The elevator doors shut, locking them in together again.

Veronica knew she shouldn't be staring, especially with the worried look she was sure was on her face, but she just couldn't help it. It had been over a week since she had seen Heather. And something wasn't right.

Her voice came out quiet and her hand reached instinctively to touch Heather's shoulder.

"Hey...are you okay?"

Heather flinched at her voice and her touch and shuffled backwards to put herself in the corner, her arms crossing under her chest as she scowled at the floor. "I'm fine." She muttered.

"No you're not." Veronica surprised both of them but she pushed forward while she had some nerve. "You've been M-I-A for a week and now you show up in the middle of the night looking like a total wreck. You are _not_ fine."

"What am I, another one of your little pet project charity cases?" Heather spat, "The hell do you care?"

"I care because you're my friend!" Veronica snapped back. The worry had changed in a weird way that made her frustrated and aggravated. "Or at least I'm trying to be if you'd let me!"

"The fuck is that suppose to mean?"

"It means you're still acting like the same goddamn bitch you were ten years ago!" A week's worth of pent of frustration was about to come out and she entirely forgot about her own pledge to stop being so aggressive. It was Veronica's turn to have Heather backed into a literal corner and she couldn't let the opportunity go. Concerns be damned; it was her turn to lay out her grievances. "I tried so hard to like you and get you to like me but you never budged! You never did anything! It was like trying to be friends with a fucking rock! You'd show that you gave just a hint of a shit once in a blue moon and then acted like it never happened!"

Heather lifted her gaze from the floor to glare at Veronica and sneer, "So what? You get your feelings hurt because I didn't want to braid your hair and watch cartoons? Again: why the fuck do you even care?" The elevator door suddenly opened to reveal an innocent apartment dweller and Heather reached across to viciously punch the button and barked, "Catch the next one!" The doors shut again and she pivoted on her heel to point a harsh finger at Veronica. "If I'm such a goddamn bitch, if I'm such a fucking awful person, then why the hell are you still here? I have literally _begged_ you to leave me alone multiple times and yet you're still here! Go the hell away, Sawyer!"

"Ohoho, believe me I wish I could!" Veronica's voice was rising to match Heather's and she stood a little straighter to try and match her height, "I would love nothing more than to just forget about you and move on with my life!"

"And are you waiting for an open invitation? You don't have to announce your fucking exit! Just fuck off already -- I _want_ you to fuck off! Why won't you just go away?!"

"Because I want to care about you!"

The admission caught them both off-guard. Veronica could feel herself deflating as she tried to gather her racing thoughts to form cohesive sentences. "I want to care about you," She reaffirmed, "but you make it so hard. Then, now, it's still the same. I try to open up to you and you either shoot me down or completely ignore me. And even when you do open up, I blink and it's gone and then it's like we're not suppose to talk about it anymore. I have to walk on eggshells around you all the time just so I can avoid getting screamed at. I can't keep doing that; it's not fair."

"Fair..." Heather scoffed. Her gaze dropped to the floor and her arms less folded and more wrapped around herself. "And what do you want me to say? 'Sorry I'm not interested in telling you random shit about me'?"

"I don't want you to give me excuses! I just want you to talk to me! Not down at me like I'm a kid or yell at me like I'm stupid! Just talk! About anything!"

The blonde's face twisted from anger to remorse and then back to anger. "And you expect me to just ignore the fact that you fed me drain cleaner in a cup? That you let me drink it and then stood there not doing shit?" Her voice started out even but slowly rose as she stalked closer to Veronica. Heather's hands curled into tight fists and her entire body was tense and ready to snap. Veronica took a careful step back and tried to resign herself to whatever was coming.

"You expect me to forgive and forget how you tried to _murder_ me and then covered it up by convincing everyone I tried to kill myself? That you had _me_ convinced that I actually did it -- because you did, by the way! I didn't remember a fucking thing and I fell for the same bullshit that everyone else did! Do you have any idea how fucking awful it is to have to try and explain why you did something you don't even remember doing? That you _didn't_ even do?"

The elevator dinged and started to open. Quick as a whip, Heather's arm snapped out and hit the button again to close the door and then the emergency stop. The lights dimmed and furthered the menacing aura surrounding the blonde. She grit her teeth and brought her eyes back to Veronica's. "And you know what's even worse? I made peace with it! I just accepted that I was a fucking dumbass kid that was sad enough to try and commit suicide! I moved on -- from Westerberg, from Sherwood, from being a mega-bitch, from _everything!_ I _did_ change! And then you showed up and you fucked it all up! You come here and turn my entire goddamn world upside down and just expect me to move on? _Again?_ Was all of that bullshit I went through for _nothing?!"_

Veronica's back hit the elevator wall and she brought her hands up defensively. She felt every word pierce her chest like they'd break her in two. But no matter how much they hurt, they couldn't hold a damn candle to the pit that swallowed her stomach and flipped her heart to the tears that were quickly gathering in Heather's eyes. "Heather..." She tried but was quickly stopped.

"You have no fucking idea what it's like! You got to jive your way out of all of that shit without losing anything, meanwhile I lost _everything!_ I was trapped in my house with my bastard of a father and my braindead mom! I wasn't allowed to leave or be alone or do _anything!_ I didn't get to go out with my friends! I didn't get to go for drives! I didn't get to be a normal fucking teenager!" Heather sucked in a tense breath and let her face scrunch up in agony as her voice began to break. "I didn't get my senior year! I didn't get to go to prom! I didn't get to graduate! I was _sixteen,_ Veronica! _Six-fucking-teen!_ And I was robbed of every fucking second of it! You got to do all of that and more and it never once crossed your mind how goddamn lucky you were for getting to be normal!"

"I felt like I was going insane! _You_ made me feel like I was _insane!_ You wrote a note that made _me_ believe I was suicidal! Do you have any idea how _mortifying_ it is to have to face people after something like that? How embarrassing it is to have to listen to people talk about you like you aren't even there? Because you're clearly not capable of taking care of yourself?! Because you're just a pitiful, worthless fucking idiot who tried to kill herself?! Because you need someone to make every decision for you?! And I didn't! I didn't need anything! I didn't pills or therapy! I didn't need babysitters or doctors!"

"I didn't need Heather McNamara! I didn't need Heather Duke! I didn't need Ram or Kurt or anyone else and I _don't_ need _you!_ "

The only sound between them was Heather's labored breathing. Neither could bear to look at the other anymore, running too high off of uncomfortable emotions and unwilling to see if the other looked just as vulnerable. Eventually Heather's breathing returned to normal and Veronica could see her wiping her face from the corner of her eyes. For once, Veronica's brain wasn't a jumbled mess of too many thoughts at once. It seemed as devoid of life as her entire body felt and it had her wishing she had the mess back to try and help her respond. But nothing came on impulse, so she thought carefully.

"I don't expect you to forget...and I don't expect you to forgive me either. I know there's nothing I can do or say that will ever make it right. I shouldn't have left you there; I shouldn't have left you alone. I shouldn't have done _any_ of it. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to even consider how you felt and I'm still doing that. I thought I had moved on from everything, but I realize that I was just trying to ignore it. Anytime I try and talk about what happened it always turns into a sob-story for J.D. because everyone thinks he was just a poor kid. No one knows what a sick son of a bitch he was and no one knows how much he fucked me over. I thought that maybe if I ignored it all, I wouldn't feel like..."

Veronica tried to make herself look at the other woman but could only manage to look as far as her shoes. The deep-rooted chill and ache were coming back and Veronica took to wringing her hands to try and keep some sense of warmth. "You're right to hate me. _I_ hate me. I don't think I ever won't. And I know I have no right to feel sorry for myself compared to you but...we really can't compare. Everything we went through was so different and we both come out so fucked up from it. I know I'll never understand how you feel or what you went through and you'll never understand what I went through. I don't want you to; you shouldn't have to. I just..."

The tears had welled up enough to finally spill and Veronica's face flushed in shame. "I just thought that maybe I didn't have to be alone anymore. That's why I keep coming back to you. Because even if you hate me and you scream and yell...you're the only one that I don't have to pretend around. I don't have to play the part of the grieving and traumatized girlfriend, I can just be my regular fucked up self. I thought that maybe you felt the same way...sad and scared and...alone. I'm so sorry that I made you have to go through all of this again. I never wanted to hurt anyone, especially to you. You deserve so much better."

She trailed off and wiped her nose using her sleeve, waiting for something to happen. Heather didn't reply so Veronica cautiously looked up at her and viewed her despondency. Her brows were furrowed slightly as if she were mulling over everything and her eyes still glistened with sadness. Heather swallowed thickly and rasped, "Why? Why do you care so much?"

All of Veronica's previous energy had been completely sapped now and only a heavy sadness remained. "You can say and think that it's because I pity you or that it's just me trying to feel less guilty about what happened. But one time this untouchable popular girl made me, a lame loser-nobody, feel special. You didn't have to keep me around or make me part of the group. You could have just used me for my forged notes and not associated with me otherwise, but you didn't. And in my mind that means you have to care. Somewhere, somehow, you _care._ And you proved me right -- you _just_ helped me when you didn't have to. You could have left me on the fire escape or dumped me in my apartment to figure myself out. But you didn't. You _stayed_ with me. You came _back._ You made sure I was okay and then you made me feel better. You opened up to me...but then you shut me out again. And it's frustrating and it makes me tired and want to give up, but I can't. I guess it's because...as lame as it sounds, I want to make you feel special too. But like I said before, you deserve better. We'll never be able to go back to the way we were before and I don't expect us to even be close. But you helped me and that means a lot to me, so I want to help you too -- however I can. If you'd let me."

Heather chuckled bitterly and pulled a hand through her unkempt hair to hold her temple. "'Help me'...so does that make me your new psychotic mess you're going to try and fix?"

"No!" Veronica tentatively took a step closer and stretched her arm out to touch but caught herself and instead hovered her hand next to Heather's arm. "No," She tried to reassure while finally taking Martha's advice to heart, "you don't need to be 'fixed'. But maybe you could use a friend? Someone to watch bad movies or bake brownies with and feel normal? Someone to just...be there when you're not okay? So you don't have to be alone anymore?"

The pensive expression weakened at her words and Heather shifted her weight to one hip and dropped her hand to her side. Deliberately or not the motion brought Veronica's hand to finally touch her and this time she didn't immediately shake it off. Veronica delicately added pressure and lightly gripped Heather's arm, giving her a gentle squeeze and hoping it wouldn't scare her away. It didn't, and gradually Heather actually seemed to lean into the touch and her stoicism thawed. 

That rare docile and bleak side of Heather was revealed as she murmured, "I don't know what to do."

"I don't either." Veronica confessed, "Maybe we...start over?"

Heather shook her head while saying in defeat, "I'm tired of always starting over. I can't keep doing it."

"Then we don't. We just try and move on from here." Veronica forced a smile and offered, "I've still got that Jiffypop. Maybe we could find a movie? We don't have to talk or anything, we can just sit and--"

Heather withdrew from Veronica's touch and said firmly, "No." Veronica's heart sank at possibly losing this moment. Heather pushed the emergency stop button and the lights flicked on again, the elevator door opening to their floor. She took a step out then hesitated and said over her shoulder, "I-I need time to think." Her hands pushed into her jacket pockets and she momentarily froze. Veronica watched curiously as Heather pulled the red scrunchie and considered it with scrutiny before turning slightly and holding it out. 

Veronica looked from the accessory to the woman as she gingerly took it and tried ask but was stopped by the sincere look on Heather's face as she explained, "It doesn't suit me anymore. I don't want it to."

They walked to their respective doors in silence, Veronica trailing a few steps behind Heather and looking between the blonde's back and the scrunchie. Before Heather could disappear into her apartment, Veronica stopped her by calling out, "Heather?" Blue-grey eyes met brown and Veronica curled the scrunchie into her fist and out of sight. "I'm sorry for what I said before. I just wanted to hurt you but I crossed the line. I don't wish you died. I'm actually really glad you're still here and...it's comforting to know that I'm not alone."

Heather dropped her gaze to the floor in what appeared like guilt. She paused long enough for Veronica to assume she wouldn't respond but when she did it caught Veronica completely off-guard.

"Thank you."

Veronica let grateful tears spring back into her eyes and replied a watery, "Anytime."

As they retreated into their apartments, Veronica looked down at the red scrunchie in deep thought while moving into her bedroom. The box of old memories was still placed beside her closet and she got down to sit beside it, setting the accessory in her lap and pulling items out of the container. She pushed the old papers and books aside in stacks, maneuvering past most of the clutter and slowing when her fingers touched fabric. Veronica carefully pulled the blazer out this time and rubbed the worn fabric with her thumbs. 

The red scrunchie returned to it's place in the blazer's pocket, the blazer returned to it's place in the box, and the lid snapped shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friends, we have finally made it. we have reached: _friendship_ (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)
> 
> well, i guess it'll still be a while before we see them being completely chummy and open with one another, but i can happily say that they can now stand to be in the same room together without wanting the other to keel over dead! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ also, lets here it for the title coming into play in the story!! i originally wasn't going to use the song as a chapter title as i wanted it to represent their friendship as a whole and not one particular story beat, but it truly belongs here so i couldn't not use it! i'd also like to apologize for the lack of updates last week! i had a case of the sniffles and wasn't feeling super great on top of my day job getting a little hectic! but!! i am still trying to have a new chapter out once a week! i'm very excited about the next few chapters i've got coming up and have already started the next! here's to hoping it is finished soon!
> 
> thank you for reading and commenting and for the kudos! i just realized that 1,200 friends have clicked on this story and it means the absolute world to me! thank you very much! i am very grateful to each and every one of you! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡


	10. Move On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like a roller in the ocean, life is motion  
>  Move on  
> Like a wind that's always blowing, life is flowing  
> Move on  
> Like the sunrise in the morning, life is dawning  
> Move on  
> How I treasure every minute, being part of, being in it  
> With the urge to move on_  
> 

Even when she was younger, Veronica never really cared for summer. She did prefer the heat over winter's cold, but the days always seemed to stretch on. It had a way of both frustrating her and tiring her, and a tired mind was her worst enemy right now.

She had managed to avoid the issue at hand so far. Every so often she would have to catch herself from wandering and drifting closer to that numbing nothingness that hung around her like a fog. Shutting her brain down to try and ignore it wasn't even an option anymore because her voided mind was what was causing this all to happen.

Veronica could force herself to focus on her work throughout the day, but the still of the night is what scared her the most.

She entered her apartment and dropped her things on the couch, tugging at her sweaty shirt and moving to open the window by her desk. The cool breeze that wafted in released some of the tension from her shoulders, and as her eyes drifted to her corkboard more of it washed away. Veronica gently smoothed the photo booth strip and gave a half-hearted smile to the two girls grinning back at her. Her smile didn't last for long.

The all too familiar guilt wiped it off her face and she took a step back to view them, as if her being too close would ruin the happy memory. 

She hadn't realized she had drifted until a sudden movement from the corner of her eyes had her head snapping to the hallway. It was brief, but she knew it was a figure walking into her bedroom. Veronica tiredly rubbed her eyes and started down the hall, repeating to herself how stupid she was being while growing more apprehensive with each step.

Her door opened but she couldn't enter. An irrational fear overcame her at what could be waiting for her inside and she refused to move. Her muscles twitched, her body in conflict with her waning mind, and she gradually stepped into the bedroom to face what was waiting for her.

Veronica slowly lifted her gaze from the floor and sighed in relief at her empty bedroom. Her eyes immediately went to the blue blazer that sat folded on her nightstand and against better judgement she walked to it. Her fingers trailed across the smooth material, finding the pocket and pulling the scrunchie out. She observed it carefully, stretching the elastic slightly and tugging on the fraying edges here and there. It eventually made it's way around her wrist and Veronica's entire body bloomed gooseflesh.

"How long are you planning on ignoring me?"

She flinched at the voice and clenched her fists. Veronica dropped her eyes to the floor again and turned on her heel to go back to the living room.

She needed something to focus on, something that would occupy her mind and something that would make her hands stop trembling. Veronica returned to her desk and sat down, opening her journal and staring at a blank page as if it would begin to write itself. The scrunchie drifted back into her line of sight and she laid her head on her desk, letting out a pitiful groan and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Uh, hell-o? Are you brain dead? I asked you a question, the least you could do is answer it--"

Veronica's face pinched in frustration and she growled out habitually, "Shut up, Heather."

As soon as she said it she knew she was in too deep, but after fighting it for so long she was ready to sink into the insanity of her own brain and melt for a while. Begrudgingly, Veronica turned her head to rest her cheek against her desk and view the company she had gained.

Hands on her robe-clad hips and hair pulled back with the same scrunchie Veronica wore around her wrist, eyes slate white and void of any life, lips stained blue and glass shards stuck throughout her skin, a dead girl stood only a few steps away and viewed her with a familiar disdain.

"Make me." Heather sneered

Veronica pressed her palms into her desk to lift herself off it and she let out a long sigh. "Go away; I'm not in the mood to talk to you."

"Riiight, you don't want to talk to _me._ You want to talk to that walking corpse that _thinks_ she's me. But she's not, and you hate it." The dead girl walked to the kitchen with a confident stride and lifted herself on to the countertop, resting back on the palms of her hands and viewing Veronica with that self-satisfied smirk while saying in a mockingly sweet voice, "Aww, what's wrong Veronica? Sad that you're being ignored? Or are you sad that your friend is different now? Different, changed, _wrong._ "

"Shut up!" Veronica snapped defensively.

Heather scoffed and arched a brow. "Ooh, touchy." She then lifted a hand to view her nails casually and said, "I don't even know why you try so hard."

"Because I want to--"

"Stop feeling so guilty?"

"No!"

"Yes."

Veronica rubbed her forehead and begrudgingly agreed, "Okay, yes I feel guilty. But I'm not trying to do it to make myself feel better--."

Heather laughed and dropped her hand. "Bullshit! Everything you've ever done is so you can feel better about yourself! Poor little painfully average Veronica, so innocent and good that she'd _kill_ to find out what it's like on the other side."

"What are you even talking about?" 

"Don't be dense. You were a goody-two-shoes since you were in diapers and you were sick of it. You never so much as stuck your pinky toe out of line and you wanted a taste of freedom. You watched people treat the social hierarchy like it was made of Playdoh and couldn't stop thinking about molding into the shape _you_ wanted. But you were just so obedient to authority that you couldn't do it. But then a mysterious new kid shows up and shakes everything up and you just have to be apart of it." Heather slid off the counter and put her hands back to her hips, a cheshire grin stretching across her face, "I mean, that's when it started right? When I moved to Sherwood in the fourth grade? I had the entire fucking school whipped in under a week and you never stopped wondering how it felt."

Veronica stood from her desk and stomped past the dead girl, yanking open her cabinets in search of the bottle of vodka she had tucked away. The glass she poured was a little generous for a work night, but Veronica downed it without a second thought. She was already talking to a ghost, might as well get shitfaced while doing so. "I just want her to talk to me." Veronica muttered without looking up, "I know I don't deserve it, but I just want..."

"Her to go back to forgetting all about it?" Heather slowly stepped from one ear to the other as she whispered, "Be honest with yourself. You spilled your guts to try and clear your own guilty conscious and then you regret _every_ word you said. Not because it took the guilt away, but because it _terrified_ you. You gave her all the power in the world again, all of that power over _you_ again, and it scared the _shit_ out of you to lose that control. Because you hate that, right? Losing control? It's why you were so willing to roll with the punches and the murders, right? Because it made you feel _in control?_ "

"Stop." Veronica couldn't tell if the plead was to the ghost or to herself for seeing it. Tears were quickly jumping to her eyes despite them being squeezed shut and a familiar weight was returning to her chest.

"You, Veronica Sawyer, spent your whole life following the rules and letting other people control you, and then the second you get a taste of what it's like to fly you go off the deep end. You killed people, you drove your friends away, you ignored your parents. That at all sound familiar? You said I killed myself in order to give up my power, but who took it as soon as I was gone? You thought it was Heather Duke, but it was _you._ You didn't kill Heather Chandler, you became her. And you can say that it was all because of Jason Dean, but was it really? Who put him in Heather's house that morning? Who directed his attention to Kurt and Ram?"

"I mean, you even wrote it in your diary! _'I've got no control over myself when I'm with J.D.'._ He was damaged, a poor lost little boy with a broken heart, and you took advantage of that! Was he really manipulating you, Veronica? Or were _you_ manipulating _him?_ "

Slamming her fists on the countertop, Veronica whirled around and found herself nose to nose with the dead girl. Brown eyes stared into milky white ones and a hand came up to take a fistful of the robe. The anger inside her had reached a boiling point but all she could manage to scream out was a pitiful, "You're not even real!"

Heather's grin finally faltered, her expression going to an eerie neutral as she replied, "Of course I'm not. I'm just the ghost in the back of your head, remember? You can't bear to tell yourself these things, so you make me do it instead. You don't want to control _this,_ you don't even want to think about it. That's why you keep ignoring yourself and pretending you're fine. But you're not. You're worried that I'm right -- that _we're_ right -- and you're worse than J.D.. It's why you parrot and preach being a good person, because you don't think you are. You hate yourself. You try to hide from it and push all of the blame on to someone else, like me, but it's you."

Veronica's hands released the ghost and she reached for her glass and poured another drink with shaky hands. She couldn't bring herself to drink it and held it in both hands and closed her eyes to try and force the young Heather out of her mind.

Gradually the voice shifted in tone and depth, warping between four different voices with each word and unable to settle on one. 

"You try so hard to act like the bigger person, the better person, but you never have been. You blamed everyone else around you for not meeting your perfect standards, for not being _beautiful._ It was always because you never saw yourself as beautiful. You watched every around you be happier than you, have more fun than you, be stronger than you, not _need_ you, _leave you,_ and you hated them for it. And it never occurred to you that _they_ weren't the problem."

The tears finally crested and her hands instinctively squeezed as she shouted, _"Shut up!"_

The bang that followed had her snapping her eyes open to stare at the woman standing in front of her.

High heels, black skirt, charcoal grey petticoat, and strawberry-blonde hair pulled back with a black scrunchie -- the exact way she looked when they first met. A hand slowly lifted to touch the bullet hole in the center of her chest, blue-grey eyes wide and looking between the wound and the still smoking barrel of the gun.

Veronica's entire body turned to ice as the weight of the gun settled into her hands and a stomach-churning realization set in at what she had just done.

Slowly, by degrees, the now adult Heather's face faded from shock into the same vague expression her doppleganger had previously. Her gaze lifted to meet Veronica's and she told her in a flat, emotionless voice.

"It's you. It's always been you."

The gun clattered to the floor and Veronica followed it, dropping to her knees and gripping her hands against her head. "I-I didn't want this." She sobbed, "I didn't want any of this!"

"I know." Heather said, "And so do you."

"I don't want to forget! I can't! I-I..."

"You can't blame yourself for everything. Maybe you did want control, but that doesn't mean Jason Dean didn't manipulate you. He used you. He was damaged, but in a different way than you are. He was beyond help, but you're not. You show remorse. That's more than he ever did."

"But I was selfish! I was more worried about my college applications then my best friend dying on the floor!"

"You were in shock. You were a child. You didn't know what to do. You were scared."

"I let him keep going! I could have said something or stopped him sooner but I didn't!"

"Because you were afraid of him. He may not have verbally threatened you until the very end, but he intimidated you into silence."

Veronica raised her head slightly and looked through bleary eyes at the gun on the floor and then to the high heels standing on the other side of it. "She should have killed me." She breathed, "Heather should have killed me, then there would be justice."

"No there wouldn't. You'd be feeding into the same cycle J.D. was obsessed with. You still want to be free of your culpability and trauma, but you'll never be. But that doesn't mean you should give up."

Her tears dripped to the floor. It took effort, but Veronica finally lifted her face up to look at the woman and whispered, "I don't know what to do."

Heather had no sympathy on her face or in her voice. She simply said, "You move on."

"What if I can't?"

"Then you try."

"What if I can't do it alone? What if I need you to help me?"

"I'm not real, Veronica, and it's not up to you if the real Heather decides to forgive you or not. You can only try to be a better friend and be there. Whatever the outcome, you have to keep going and move on." Veronica wiped at her eyes and heard the ghost tell her, "Heather said you are beautiful; she thinks you are. If that's all she is willing to give you, let it be enough. You're done being tragic, you're done being 'very-okay', you're done being that person. Let it not suit you anymore."

When Veronica cleared her eyes, she was sitting alone in her kitchen floor. The shattered glass and spilled vodka had made a mess in front of her and she stared at it trying to find some deeper meaning in it.

_It's just glass._ She told herself. As she blinked, it would almost phase in her mind and look like the gun again for a brief second, but when her eyes opened again it was still just broken glass. Veronica reached out to pick it up with trembling hands, unsure if it was truly glass or the gun. Holding pieces in her palm, she tried to keep her eyes open to stop from seeing what wasn't there but knew deep down that it was only a matter of time before the nightmare came back.

Laying in bed that night, Veronica stared at the ceiling and wondered if she'd dream of everything again. The true worry was that after seeing Heather during consciousness, she'd see Ram and Kurt in sleep. Or worse, J.D..

The words she told herself echoed in her mind like the aftermath to a bomb, lingering and painful and affecting everything in it's radius. Aftermath that was cold, and empty, and numb -- one that begged for an end no matter the cost.

_Try._

Veronica closed her eyes and focused on the last things her subconscious told her.

_Keep going. Move on. You're done being that person._

_You are beautiful. Let it be enough._

She dreamed of endless summer and revitalized youth, of snarky conversations and laughter and smiles, of friends watching movies on repeat and playing croquet, of the wind in her hair on a long drive.

When she woke up, she wished that day could have lasted even longer.

They would meet at seemingly random moments. One exiting and one entering the laundry room, one leaving home and one coming home, in the early morning, in the late evening, holding the door or the elevator, the occasionally loaned cigarette or borrowed light.

But they were always just that -- moments. 

Veronica would try to find something to say but either didn't have the chance or couldn't find the words. She'd offer little waves and small smiles instead, uttering soft 'thank you's to the held doors and borrowed smokes but unable to bring herself to do much else.

Only on very rare occasions would Heather return the smiles and they were always much like herself: fleeting. She had an almost set routine and Veronica was gradually able to predict where she would be and when most days, but Heather would only make brief eye contact and give her a slight nod before slipping away.

They did have short conversations once in a blue moon. Veronica would initiate them, asking Heather about her day and sometimes getting a response but most of the time getting ignored. The first substantial conversation they had was when Veronica asked Heather about the previous semester. The blonde had groaned and griped about her male-dominated class and backwards-viewing professors, complaining about their lesson structures and horrible assignments. Veronica mentioned her own dreadful experiences in college with crappy professors and lazy students and Heather even cracked a smile at a story she told about a guy falling asleep standing up at the front of the class.

Their next chat was after yet another loud fight between Heather and Christian. Veronica sat on her couch and listened to them scream at each other, wondering if she should go knock on the door and try to intervene or to just let it pass. Their door eventually opened and then slammed hard enough to rattle the walls and Veronica poked her head out to see Heather stomping towards the fire escape. She followed quietly and offered the woman a cigarette without a word. Veronica had figured out that if she wanted to talk, Heather would say something first. Otherwise she'd just shut Veronica out.

So she simply stood close by and watched the traffic go by beneath them and waited. Heather leaned against the railing and exhaled smoke, glaring off at nothing and furiously tapping her nails. The tapping eventually slowed and then stopped, the remains of the cigarette were tossed to the sidewalk three stories down, and Heather heaved a soft sigh.

"Remember that ice storm that happened when we were kids?"

It was completely random, but Veronica didn't question it and replied. "Yeah. I think I was...five? We lost power and had to stay with my grandparents for a week. My parents had to cram with my Granddad in my Grandma's old Firebird to go to work and I got stay with my Grandma and draw her 'cartoons' in the dust on the TV."

Heather snorted and said, "My snot-nosed cousins kept trying to get me to play board games with them. They'd gang up on me and cheat because I was the youngest but they eventually had to leave me alone because I tried eating Monopoly pieces."

"What?" Veronica couldn't help her laugh, "You tried to eat _Monopoly pieces?_ Why?"

"I don't know! I was four and a dumbass!" They chuckled and then Heather glanced over and asked, "Your Grandma had a Firebird?"

"Yep. My Granddad used to joke that he only married her because of it."

"What year?"

"What?"

"The model -- what year was it? Seventies, Eighties?"

Veronica shrugged, "I really couldn't tell you. I remember it was white with a blue stripe and it always smelled like my Grandad's aftershave."

Heather closed her eyes and hummed in thought, slowly saying, "Probably a Trans-Am." She rested her elbow on the railing then her temple on her knuckles while supplying, "My uncle was really into cars and so I was by proxy."

"The uncle with the motorcycle?"

"Mhm." A private smile graced Heather's lips and she told her, "He'd take me to car shows and tell me all about the different cars and how they worked. Sometimes he'd even let me help him work on his motorcycle, but it was mostly just holding the tools for him."

"Is he the one that gave you the Porsche?"

"No, that was my father. I think he only bought it for me because it was new and expensive, not because he knew I liked cars. I did love it, but I love the motorcycle more." Heather's lips spread into an almost wistful grin as she recalled, "He'd ask me if I wanted to get lost somewhere and then we'd ride for _hours._ We always ate gross gas station food and I'd make him pull over every time I saw flowers because I wanted to pick some. They'd always be crushed by the time we got home, but I would keep them anyways. I remember he wore these old beat-up aviators. He told me they were good luck and would keep us from getting into too much trouble."

Veronica smiled at the story and decided now seemed like an okay time to press just a little. "What was your uncles name?"

The grin turned into a bitter smile and she freely answered, "Bernard, but to me he was just Uncle Benny."

"He sounds like an awesome person."

The bitter smile became a somber frown as Heather agreed faintly. "He was. He was a great man." She leaned further to rest her head on her arm and went quiet again, watching the street below them pensively.

Veronica knew they were done talking but stayed where she was, slightly mirroring Heather's stance and leaning her arms against the railing and watching the world around them. The silence was always stiff and awkward at first, but Veronica was slowly able to get used to it enough that it would fade into a pleasant calm. They stood for a while without saying anything, at peace and finding a slight comfort in just existing with someone else. Veronica always found the moments to be grounding, and she could only hope that they could help Heather too.

Heather eventually stood up and stretched her arms over her head with a yawn. Veronica watched her and knew the moment was over, straightening her own back and blurting out, "You can sleep on the couch if you want." Heather gave her a bewildered look and she sheepishly explained, "I-If you don't want to go back to your apartment tonight."

"I have somewhere else I can go." Heather crossed her arms and said almost defensively.

Veronica tugged at the hem of her shirt and avoided the intimidating look she was getting. "Well...you can always have another one, one that's not too far away? Just...door's always open, ya'know?"

There was a flash of agitation across the blonde's features but as quick as it appeared it vanished with a long inhale through the nose. Heather released the air out of her mouth and her expression went neutral. "It's fine. I'll have to apologize to Christian at some point and I might as well get it over with now." She turned to the door and opened it, her eyes flicking up to Veronica's briefly before looking away. "Thanks." She mumbled and then shut the door.

It wasn't much of a victory, but it was enough to get Veronica smiling again. Her head turned up to look at the few and far between stars above and she reminded herself of her new personal oath.

_Let it be enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! this was another chapter that i wrote in pieces and then had to string together so i'm not completely happy with it but as is the theme of it: i'll let it be enough! 
> 
> the story is definitely close to kicking off into the "meat" of the plot and looking at it now i'm not sure if it'll be everyone's cup of tea or not. it won't be much different from what it's been so far, but i view these first few chapters as the 'setup' and 'make-up' portion of the story! i knew i wanted them to take a long time to come to a point of friendship and it'll be an even longer journey to being _mooore_ (thus the slow-burn), but i do want to give everyone a slight heads-up: the story is going to take a very domestic turn. it may seem like it's out of left field and i understand if it's not something that tickles yer fancy anymore and that's okay! just so's ya know, it's gonna get very domestic!
> 
> i'd also like to really quickly say another repeated thank you! thank you so much for reading and commenting and the kudos! we've hit a little over 1,500 hits now and that is bananagrams! truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you! i am grateful to each and every one of you and you make my life a little bit lighter! thank you again and again my friends! i can't wait to see you all again next week! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ


	11. Hasta Mañana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> _  
> Where is the spring and the summer  
>  That once was yours and mine?  
> Where did it go?  
> I just don't know  
> But still my love for you will live forever  
> Hasta mañana, 'til we meet again  
> Don't know where, don't know when  
> Darling, our love was much too strong to die  
> We'll find a way to face a new tomorrow  
> Hasta mañana, say we'll meet again  
> I can't do without you  
> Time to forget, send me a letter  
> Say you forgive, the sooner the better  
> Hasta mañana, baby  
> Hasta mañana, until then_  
> 
> 
> __

The still and the quiet stopped making Veronica nervous.

She could make it through the nights without any nightmares and could keep her mind from wandering during the days. She didn't need to throw herself into work to try and escape, didn't need to come home and write her thoughts down until her wrist was sore, and didn't have that constantly watched or followed feeling on her back.

The fog of her mind prevented her from caring about anything anymore and had spread to her chest. The weight put there stopped being painful after a few days and now seemed almost comforting in a backwards way. That ache in her chest felt like a good reminder, a better one than the things haunting her that she was actively ignoring. And that's where the ache and the fog were good -- they numbed everything to the point that Veronica didn't care that she thought she saw dead kids standing behind her in mirrors or that she'd wash her hands until they were raw in attempts to remove the blood that appeared and disappeared with every blink.

She stopped calling Martha, feeling too sick every time her friend would babble happily about her life and only able to picture her in a neck brace and cast. She avoided Javier and his attempts to get coffee, always too close to losing herself in his dark eyes and agreeing before remember what happened the last time she let herself become mesmerized and agreed to whatever happened next. She stopped returning her parent's calls, unwilling to scare them when she'd inevitably reply by having another breakdown over the phone.

For the first time, she couldn't avoid Heather. That made her nervous.

It seemed like everywhere she'd turn, Heather would be waiting for her. Veronica really thought that they were done with this weird back-and-forth, that their last conversation would be just that. But every glimpse of blonde hair or red clothes would catch her eye. It didn't matter where she was, alone in her apartment, at work, on a busy sidewalk -- she'd see a sign and then would find herself staring into the deadened eyes of the girl who stared right back at her.

The dead girl wouldn't speak to her anymore, probably because Veronica finally admitted that she was talking to herself but didn't want to think herself completely insane yet, but she would hover near and stare with a blank expression. It was eerie at first, but the fog took that feeling away too and Veronica got used to having her around. They wouldn't acknowledge each other directly, but both seemed to be aware of the other.

The only real times Veronica would flinch at the sight of the ghost were when she'd appear suddenly riddled with bullet holes or leaking electric blue blood from every orifice like a broken faucet.

When Veronica would run into the living Heather, she'd stay quiet and guarded until she was completely sure that she wasn't the ghost. It led to a lot of weird looks and one-sided greetings, a total reversal of how they previously were, but Veronica would recover as quickly as she could and offer the bare minimum before escaping.

Seeing Heather, dead or alive, made the hole in her chest expand. It would threaten to spread to her brain and eat it away and she didn't know what it would mean if that happened.

She watched her cigarette burn smaller and smaller without taking a drag, watching the paper turn to ash and scatter away and wondering if that's what would happen to her if she gave in to the rot.

"Veronica?"

Her head raised and she realized she had spaced out so hard that she missed everything Heather had just said.

"Sorry," Veronica murmured while rubbing her eyes, "long day at work."

"Work on your bullshitting or get better excuses, Sawyer. You've had a 'long day' three days in a row."

Something about the tone of the comment put a frail smile on her face and she weakly chuckled, "Sorry, Heather."

Heather sighed and muttered, "Pillowcase. Talk more, Sawyer, it won't kill you."

Her smile spread wider. Something about this moment reminded her of the first time they smoked together in high school, leaning against the stone half-wall boarder of one of the country club kids' backyard and listening to the muffled cacophony of a party happening behind them. 

_Veronica had been tense then, afraid of being truly alone with Heather Chandler for the first time and trying to conceal her panic. She had come out by herself for some air and was shocked when Heather approached her with a box of smokes and casually offered her one. Veronica had only smoked a handful of times but wasn't about to get ripped a new one for declining, so she swallowed her coughs and hoped the tears in her eyes would go unnoticed._

_"This party fucking blows." Heather told her with a generous amount of ire. "I can see why you bailed."_

_"I just needed some air," Veronica explained. She then gave a playful smile and said, "You, Heather, and Heather seemed like you were having fun."_

_The Heathers were practically parading around the party, preening at the attention and desperation from everyone who tried to get their attention for even a second. Heather McNamara was last seen goading Kurt into sneaking off upstairs and Heather Duke had amassed a following of kids who were practically hanging off of every word she said as she boasted about her test scores and propagated the latest gossip. Veronica had watched Heather Chandler slyly sneak off upstairs with two senior boys and promptly vanish, which was when Veronica decided to step outside for a moment of peace._

_It was hard to try and keep up with the three, especially when they all seemed to have their own thing going on when they went to parties. She had been assimilated into the group for two months now, but she still didn't feel like a Heather. It still felt like it was the Heathers_ and _Veronica. She knew she was still a boring loser at her core and decided to just wait for one of them to whip her into her own special role that wasn't exclusively their personal printing press._

_At the mention of their previous activities, Heather scoffed and produced a compact from her blazer to check her lipstick for a brief second before loudly snapping it shut. "There is a difference between doing what's expected and having fun. Having fun is getting drunk or high or a guy lasting longer than three minutes. And it seems like none of that shit is happening tonight, so this party is shit. Leave it to the country club pricks to not know how to throw a rager. Assholes."_

_Veronica smiled as she listened to Heather complain. Something about the juxtaposition of going from being an outlet for her uncontrollable wrath to being her advisor to help direct said wrath upon others would never not be funny._

_Heather noticed her smile and shot her a scrutinizing glare. "Got something to say, Sawyer?"_

_Feeling caught and nervous again, Veronica tried to play it cool and nonchalantly mentioned, "I dunno, I heard something about a sex toy collection in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Maybe they do know how to throw a rager -- just for the right people."_

_The devious grin and dark chuckle had her glancing over to watch the gears in Heather's head turn. "Well now," She said in that deliberate drawl only Heather Chandler could pull off, "that is interesting now, isn't it? Especially what with all of these crosses and Virgin Mary propaganda smear across the walls of this entire fucking house. Any other interesting details?"_

_Of course she had details. Veronica had learned fast that you didn't give Heather dirt on someone without either verifying it or having a solid plan on how to make it seem true. "Samantha and Lisa said something about the third door on the right. Overheard them telling Ryan about it." She paused and then added coyly, "I also couldn't help but notice an urn left on the mantle in the living room. Completely unattended."_

_At this information Heather laughed around the cigarette between her lips and hummed in contemplation, then wondering aloud, "Send Heather upstairs with Kurt to find and collect, have Heather move her sermon out here and get everyone out of the living room, dump Grandma on the floor and turn her into a dildo excavation site." She chuckled again and told Veronica, "You're warped, Ronnie, you know that?"_

_"I was just making small talk, you're the one who made it into a plan. If anyone here's warped it's you." Veronica nearly swallowed her smoke when she realized she had just back-talked. "I-I'm sorry, Heather, I-I didn't mean..." Her wide-eyed look didn't go unnoticed and Heather's smirk turned smug._

_She stepped a little closer and took the cigarette between her fingers, leaning into Veronica's face and exhaling smoke while saying, "Well, look who's growing a pair. I'll let you walk away this one time without yanking your spine out of your ass like the ripcord to a chainsaw, but don't make this a habit." There was something else glinting in her eye alongside the mischief, something that looked akin to either pride or amusement. Heather didn't bother crushing her cigarette, instead carelessly tossing it into the grass and telling Veronica, "Talk more, Sawyer. I'm interested in finding out what kinds of nefarious ideas the genius has. Go fill Heather and Heather in and lets get this shit done so we can motor."_

It already felt like lifetimes ago, but now it felt like the memories belonged to someone else entirely. 

_They do,_ She mused somberly, _that girl is long gone. She played with fire and burned down to ash. But not before setting fire to everyone around her first._

There was still that lingering echo in her mind that she couldn't erase, one that stressed the fact that the teenager she used to plot with was nothing but a shadow of her former self. Trying to compare them now, it made Veronica question if her subconscious had been right to say that the person standing beside her wasn't the real Heather Chandler. The real Heather Chandler wouldn't have hesitated to throw her off the very fire escape they stood on now, wouldn't have took the cruelty and hate Veronica spewed, wouldn't let a man scream at her and get the last word in.

Heather Chandler was suppose to be untouchable, unbothered, uncaring. Heather Chandler was suppose to have a heart of stone and an iron fist. Heather Chandler was suppose to be solid Teflon, she was suppose to be unbreakable and unyielding.

This Heather carried more emotions than just blind rage, her buttons could easily be pushed, she had admitted to self-doubt and hurt. This Heather's heart was made of coal at best, hard to reach and too hot to touch but warming and comforting to be near, and her hands could lose their edge and become soft. This Heather was almost like glass, she was undeniably broken and had succumbed to pressure and pain.

Veronica couldn't deny it. This Heather _was_ different, she _had_ changed, and it felt _wrong._

_Because of me. I did this. No one else. I was the one in control, and I chose to ruin her. I wanted her dead. It's all my fault._

She could see Heather move from the corners of her eyes -- the only true way she could look at the woman without wanting to collapse -- and guessed that she was taking a drink from the wine cooler she had offered to Veronica when they first stepped onto the fire escape. Veronica had refused at the time, but the longer they stood in the strained silence the more she wished she accepted. She couldn't help but wonder if maybe Heather had the right idea after all by turning to alcohol to help cope. Maybe being drunk would take the ache away long enough for her to realize how terrible it actually was.

_You deserve it._ Veronica told herself. _It's retribution for every fucked up thing you've ever done. It's better this way. Can't try and ignore it or hide from it now. Just let it fester._

Heather began speaking again but Veronica was lost in her own head, a frigid feeling creeping up the side of her neck and into her face. The weight in her chest bled through into her back, rising into her shoulders and neck where it stressed her muscles so hard they burned. The cold sunk down to her arm and then into her fingers. The lack of feeling caused the untouched cigarette to slip out of her grasp and become lost to the growing void around her, her world seeming to shrink smaller and smaller and grow darker and darker.

A hand touched her shoulder and she didn't react, unsure if it were real or part of the nothingness starting to consume her.

"Are you okay?"

Veronica looked at the hand touching her and traced her eyes up the arm, studying the lightly freckled skin. She made the mistake of looking further and at who the arm was attached to, coming face to face with the greying skin and milky eyes that stared at her owlishly. It was at that moment that Veronica realized she hadn't been breathing this entire time and couldn't start now. The numb sensation she was feeling in her face and neck was from the lack of oxygen, the dimming light around her her brain trying to shut down and knock her unconscious. 

The dead girl just stared right at her as she struggled to do anything other than stare back. Veronica's stomach lurched as the girl's lips parted to allow more fluid to stream out.

The girl's voice was raspy and echoed, gurgling slightly from the mixture of drain cleaner, blood, and liquifying flesh in a horrendous way that Veronica wished she could unhear.

"V-Ver...on...ica..." Heather wheezed out. Her grip on Veronica's shoulder tightened and her other hand came up to smear warm and sticky blood against her cheek in an almost perverted attempt at comfort. "Ron...nnie. H-hel...p...me..."

Her eyes shut in a pathetic attempt to make it all stop, and when she opened her eyes she found herself face to face with the living Heather. The woman's expression was a mixture of puzzlement and worry and her lips moved without sound. Everything felt like it was too much to Veronica and her sight was beginning to fail again, her knees growing weak and lungs burning.

The hand on her cheek felt like it was on fire compared to how cold she was, but it was pulled away and she mourned it's loss.

Veronica didn't mourn for very long, as only a second later the same hand struck her so hard across the face that her head snapped to the side and her hearing returned.

She sucked air in through her mouth on impact and gasped, her knees finally giving way and teetering her dangerously forward. Heather caught her in an awkward hold and tried to push her back on her feet but Veronica went completely limp. 

"Jesus Christ!" Heather's tense voice finally cut through, "Veronica, stand up! What the hell is going on with you?!"

The numbness in her face was fading but leaving behind an intense smolder that started in her sinuses and worked it's way forward. Her vision was already veiled by curled blonde hair but even that was beginning to become obscured and blurry as her eyes filled with tears. Her next inhale was more of a hiccup and she could smell Heather's perfume -- and something about that finally broke her chest.

Veronica screamed at herself to pull away, to beg Heather not to be kind to her like she had been the last time something like this happened because she didn't deserve it.

All that she could choke out was a feeble, "Please."

Heather was stiff for a moment before her body relaxed almost mechanically, a hand firmly pressing against Veronica's back and the other worming it's way under her arm to better support her. "Veronica," Heather spoke sternly yet gently, "I told you I'm not getting snot all over my blouse again. Tell me what's going on."

"I'm sorry," Veronica gasped. She tried her best to right herself and get away but her mind and heart were in an endless conflict between wanting to escape and wanting to be held. She wanted to explain but the only thing that she was capable of saying was repeated and weakening 'I'm sorry's.

Her hands inched upwards to her own hair to take fistfuls of it but Heather nudged one of her elbows and knocked her arm out, stepping forward and filling the space so that Veronica's hand grabbed her shoulder instead. Her other hand drifted away from her head and to Heather's other shoulder, her stretched fingers snagging a few strands of hair here and there as she instinctively slid it onto her back to complete the snug embrace. She wanted to get lost in this feeling like she had before -- warmth, safety, protection, understanding -- but the perfume wafted near her again and she knew she shouldn't be here.

It was all so wrong.

Veronica should be getting yelled at for even daring to touch Heather. Veronica shouldn't even be near Heather. Veronica shouldn't be here.

She wanted to voice these thoughts, but all that tumbled out was a weak, "I'm so sorry, Heather."

"It's not that big of a deal," Heather mentioned with a sigh, "I can do laundry tomorrow. I'm just really grossed out by snot and boogers and shit."

"No, not that." Veronica reached her hand over to wipe her nose and then wipe her hand on her own shirt before continuing, "I'm sorry I keep coming back to you. You shouldn't have to keep putting up with me."

At this Heather breathed a little scoff. "Well, you put up with me being a snatch every waking moment."

Veronica could feel another rush of heat to her eyes and tried to keep her voice from shaking as she asked, "Do you think it would have been better if I had taken the bomb? If maybe it should have been me?"

She could feel Heather tense at the question and silently berated herself for asking it.

"No," Heather eventually replied, "I don't. Do you?"

"I think it would have been fair." Veronica told her in a murmur, "I want to be held accountable for everything I did. Seems like the best thing I could have done to make it up to everyone. You, Kurt, Ram, Martha, Heather and Heather, even J.D.. It was all my fault; I deserve it."

"Bullshit." Heather's voice turned hard and she pulled away to stare down at Veronica with that familiar fire in her eyes. "You are done crying over that creep. He doesn't deserve shit from anyone -- if it's anyone's fault, it's his."

Veronica's voice was turning weepy again and she wiped at her eyes. "But I could have stopped him but I didn't. I'm the reason why he went after you and Kurt and Ram. You said it yourself: I ruined your life. It's always been me."

Her face pinched into a snarl but eased after a moment and Heather released a long exhale. "I'm not going to lie to you and say that I didn't mean what I said. I didn't get to grow up like everyone else; I didn't get my future like I planned. You were my _best friend._ I _trusted_ you, and you just left me there. I'm angry and confused and hurt, but...I don't want to blame you for it. I'm trying to think if it were me and what I'd do--"

"You shouldn't have to."

"Don't interrupt me." Heather warned. Veronica sniffed and nodded, muttering another apology as she did so. "I'm trying to rationalize what happened but it's fucking impossible. What I do know, is that you're showing a hell of a lot more regret then I guarantee Jason Dean would ever. Do you think he'd see me and start crying and confessing to all of this shit like you did? Hell no." She shivered slightly and said softly, "He'd probably try and finish me off."

"Do you regret not throwing me off the fire escape?" Veronica uttered, her gaze trailing over the railing to look at the sidewalk down below. While the thought of falling three stories made her stomach churn and heart pound, what scared her the most was the readiness and acceptance she had to fall.

"Hell no."

"But I deserve--"

_"Shut up!"_ Heather snapped suddenly. It worked as intended, Veronica biting her lip to try and stifle her sobs while Heather gripped her by the shoulders with her nails. "I regret letting myself get to that point! Me doing that -- you thinking you should be dead, that's not accountability, Veronica! That's punishment for shit you didn't do!"

"But I did--"

"Did you pour the drain cleaner? Did you hand me the cup?"

"N-no, but I should have known that he'd take--"

"But you didn't! You couldn't have!" Heather released a stressed breath and said, "Veronica, you can't blame yourself for something you couldn't control. You...you didn't know. Neither of us did."

Veronica stared up at her, knowing she had tears and snot running freely but not caring at the moment. Heather had that warmth in her eyes again, that gentleness in her touch, and a face full of sincerity as she told Veronica, "I don't blame you for what happened, okay? Yeah, I'm still mad and I don't know if I'll ever stop, but I don't hate you. I can't. You're honest to a fault and you don't give up on anything or anyone. If anyone is undeserving here, it's me. You didn't have to tell me the truth, you don't have to try to bend over backwards to make me happy, you don't have to stick around here. But you do. I've been the worst to you but you're still trying. It's funny, but even with all of the fucked up stuff you've done...I still think you're a better person than me."

Her face scrunched in a new sob as the weight on her chest lifted and the fog in her brain seemed to dissipate. Veronica threw her arms back around Heather and buried her face in her chest as she wailed, too caught up in her own emotions to care or notice how rigid Heather was in the hold. A hand awkwardly came to pat her on the top of the head and Heather mumbled an uncertain 'there, there' and tried to pry the brunette away.

"I'm not a good person." Veronica sniveled, "I hate myself. I'm not happy."

"Well, if you were happy every day of your life you'd either be an idiot or a dog."

"Or a gameshow host."

Heather snickered and agreed, "Yeah, or that. So, are you okay now? Can we stop doing this? I'm honestly ready to move past all of the weepy bullshit and go back to being bitches to one another. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm not great at this."

Veronica let go and moved backwards, wiping her eyes and noticing a rather large trail of snot on Heather's shirt where her face had been. "Sorry...about that." She gestured sheepishly to it.

The blonde ignored the motion and pulled a face of disgust. "Just don't point it out. Your shoes are actually kind of cute and I'd hate to ruin them with vomit." After moment she quipped, "Although, you want to talk about payback, that would be the perfect way to get you back for my shoes you puked on."

Veronica laughed hoarsely. "I'd let you in a heartbeat."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Sawyer." Heather's smirk waned and she asked again, "Seriously, can we be done doing this? I'm tired of being emotionally exhausted after being around you. No offense, but you're kind of a needy, whiny, bitch."

"Well when you put it like that how can I be offended?" Veronica replied sarcastically then said more seriously, "Do you really mean what you said? About not blaming me?"

"Yeah. I did. We're... _super_ fucked in the head. But hey, at least we can be traumatized together, right?" Her attempt at humor fell a little flat and she brushed some hair behind her shoulder. "I'm tired of thinking about all of that. It hurts too much. I just want to focus on what's happening now. Not starting over or forgetting about it, just..."

"Moving on?"

"Yeah."

Veronica glanced at her and said, "When I gave you back your scrunchie and I said it suited you...I'm sorry I did that. I keep thinking that you should still be the exact same person you were when we were kids. I'm not giving you a chance to be anyone else, and I'm sorry for that. I guess it's just -- I'm so used to knowing you as being the popular, mean girl that I'm trying to still stuff you in that box. I didn't really realize it until now, but I don't know a lot about you. I never did."

Heather leaned against the railing again and stared off at the city below. "If it makes you feel any better, most people don't know a lot. There's some things I never even told Heather or Heather. It's just easier that way. My father use to tell me: _'Keep your cards close to your chest and never say more than what you're asked.'._ Your less likely to be crushed that way."

"No offense, but your dad has always kind of come across as being a huge dick."

"You're not wrong. He's kind of the worst."

Veronica reached over and put a hand over one of Heather's, getting her direct attention and giving her a small smile, "Well, I'd like to know you. Not the mythic bitch with the scrunchie; the _real_ you. Whatever you're willing to share. You've told me a few things and I get it if that's all you want to talk about, but I'd like to actually get to know you. And be a better friend."

Heather returned the smile briefly before letting out a long sigh. "We play twenty-one questions later. I'm too high-strung for friendly conversation and I dropped my drink when you passed out and I'm kind of pissed about it."

"We can go get drinks? My treat."

"Tempting, but I'll pass. I'm ready to eat something and pass out until tomorrow afternoon."

"I've still got those cornnuts that you left in my apartment."

"The fuck are we still doing here then?"

It was weird to leave the fire escape casually chatting about the weather and traffic, both acting as if what had happened hadn't. Normally, Veronica wouldn't be able to let such a thing go, but things felt different now -- they felt new while also feeling familiar. It felt like they had finally made it back to that point again where everything was okay. Veronica felt like the girl in the photobooth.

As she rooted around in her cabinets for their snacks, Heather meandered from the kitchen over to her desk. She held up the blue notebook and quickly flipped through the pages without even looking at them. "Oooh, what kind of juicy secrets are you writing in here? More sophisticated, avant-garde crap like you wrote in high school?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "God, don't remind me. I hope I've moved out of that grotesquely pompous phase."

"Multi-syllabic words in a casual sentence about how arrogant you aren't," Heather winced and said, "looks like Veronica Shakespeare is alive and well. Stick to writing about your wet dreams involving Javier."

"I do not!" Veronica's face flushed at the accusation. Her fingers finally touched thick plastic and she dragged the package off of the high shelf to toss it rather forcefully to the blonde. "Here are your gross, gas station pillow mints, your majesty."

The bag smacked Heather in the arm but she only glanced at it and ignored it entirely, too focused on Veronica's corkboard. As soon as Veronica realized what she had noticed the photos were in her hand as she held them up and murmured, "Holy shit, you still have these?"

Veronica walked around the kitchen counter to look over Heather's shoulder at them. "Yep. I still have all of my old photos from high school. I really didn't want to keep them, but my mom made me. She's big on scrapbooks and photo albums."

An almost sad smile quirked at the corners of Heather's lips as she studied the pictures. "I remember I got my copy back when they cleaned out my locker. I left all of my stuff at my dad's house when I ran away; there's no telling what he's done with it all now. God, look at us. Was this was the same mall trip where I almost got us kicked out of the toy store--"

"--for throwing a rubber ball across the store? Yes it was. If memory serves, I dared you to do it and you didn't even hesitate."

Heather chuckled and nodded, "Right. That was a good day. Seeing this makes me sad that I don't have mine anymore."

Veronica looked between the photograph and her friend. The longer Heather looked at the photos, the more glossy her eyes seemed to become.

"You know," She told Veronica, "despite how it seemed, I was pretty miserable in high school. But I remember feeling like a normal kid in that photobooth. I'm glad you made me take these." Heather turned her gaze to Veronica and explained to her bit by bit, "It sounds stupid, but I've always been kind of afraid of forgetting things. When I woke up in the hospital and I couldn't remember what happened it felt like my worst nightmare coming true. Pictures like these mean a lot to me."

"Then you'll appreciate it more than me. Keep it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'll never forget. Promise."

They stood in a calm for a few minutes until it was broken by Heather asking almost hesitantly, "You said you still have all of your old photos?"

"Yeah, I've got them in a tub in my closet."

"Could I...look through them?"

Veronica retrieved the plastic container without a word and began pulling photo albums and loose pictures, setting everything out on the coffee table and then onto the floor when there was no space left. She'd hold up certain ones to show off or explain the context of, watching as Heather's expression lit up at ones she was familiar with. Her old yearbook was also dug out and flipped through, the two sitting shoulder to shoulder as Veronica pointed out different people from their class and told Heather about whatever gossip spread about them in their senior year or where they ended up now.

They skipped over the memorial pages without a word.

Heather seemed so invested in reading every little blurb and footnote in the yearbook, asking a million questions about nearly everything that Veronica was always ready to answer. Watching her go, Veronica realized just how much Heather had missed and still didn't know. 

The cornnuts were completely forgotten and it was long past dark by the time they realized the time and their exhaustion. As they packed the container back up, Veronica caught Heather lingering on some of the photos and gingerly pushed the whole container closer to her. "Borrow it for a few days," She told her, "and if there's something that you really like you can have it."

"Are you sure?"

Veronica gave her a nod as she spoke, "They're just pictures to me, but it's lost time to you."

Heather snapped the lid back on the container and bit her lip in thought. "Remind me some time later to show you the pictures I have. It's not much, but there are some pretty cool ones."

"Drinks and pictures," Veronica gave her a thumbs-up, "it's a date. Just let me know when."

The container was bounced to Heather's hip and the photo strip tucked carefully in her free hand as she made for the door. She opened it and paused, saying over her shoulder, "Hey...I'm glad it wasn't you."

A small lump formed in Veronica's throat. "Me too. Thanks, Heather."

"Night, Ronnie."

The use of the nickname had tears springing back to her eyes as the door shut and Veronica wiped them away with a finger.

Hearing it made everything feel okay.

Maybe things had changed, maybe they were different, but they didn't have to feel wrong. Maybe change was good, maybe different was better, and maybe they were on their way to being alright.

_Together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallo! it's been a while, yeah? sorry i've been away for so long; more on that [here](https://quiiethaus.tumblr.com/post/643968356120231936/hallo)!
> 
> this chapter was...woof. not only is it i think the shortest yet, i think it wins as my least favorite! i once again felt i put myself in a corner with the previous chapter and needed this one to help push everything along. i want them to work past all of the messy, upsetting stuff before we completely transition into the happy fun friend times (which are coming! next chapter! :D). not that there won't be more upsetting things in the future, but not the upsetting _past_ stuff, ya'know? annyyways, my posting schedule is going to be a little wonky and i'd like to apologize again! i will try and post the next chapter as soon as i can, but it's beginning to look like the longest one yet and i am lacking a lot of free time as of late. but here is to hoping! thank you for your continued support and for reading! i hope to see you all again soon! ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶


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